


Find the Map and Draw a Straight Line

by cumberhardhiddlesbitch



Series: The Rhombus 'Verse [7]
Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, Long-Distance Relationship, Multi, New York City, Polyamory, Sister-Sister Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-03-13 19:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13577172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumberhardhiddlesbitch/pseuds/cumberhardhiddlesbitch
Summary: Shannon and Tom finally have a chance to see each other again, this time in New York.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Kathleen is Shannon's step-mother, Tessa is Shannon's sister and Aiofe is Tessa's daughter.

_London_

Shannon curled up tighter under her quilt, the feeling of being on the phone with Tom for these stolen moments reminiscent of being a teenager in her parents’ house. 

“Everything fell into place,” she said. “I’ll be heading to Maine in a couple of weeks, to see my dad.” The usual excitement about an impending trip was heightened by the hope, however slim, that she might see Tom as well. 

“Did you get a gig up there too?” Tom asked. 

“No, it’s just that my sister Tessa is heading over with her baby, and flights were cheap. I’ve made a few more sales than usual lately, and I couldn’t pass it up. I’ll be there for ten days.” Given the vagaries of airline prices and her own work schedule it had been the most she could manage. “It’s going to be the first time that Tessa and I have been back to Maine at the same time since before she got married.”

“I’m glad it worked out,” Tom said. She could hear him shifting around. 

“What are you up to?” It was just after 8pm for Tom, so while she was up late he was getting ready for an early bedtime. 

“Just doing a quick google of whether or not I could sneak off to Maine for a weekend,” he said. “Your city isn’t half easy to get to, you know.”

“It’s small,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d have a chance of a whole weekend off, so I didn’t really think about you coming all the way to Maine.” She chewed on her lip, wondering if she could sneak away to Pennsylvania without feeling she was selling her family short.

“I think they know they’re coming pretty close to breaking us,” Tom said. “Pretty sure I could get a couple of days.”

“Maybe I should look into coming to you,” she said. Even as she offered she felt a nagging fear over the hours she would spend traveling versus the time she would spend with him or her family.

“We could meet in the middle,” Tom said. “That would probably make the most sense.”

She felt a sort of relief flare in her, along with hope. “That could work. New York?”

“Yeah.” He shifted around again. “I can hardly think straight,” he said, speaking through a yawn. “If you email me the days you’ll be in Maine, I’ll see if I can get the time, ok?”

“Alright.” She closed her eyes, listening to him breathe for a moment. “I’m tired myself, finally.”

“You ought to be,” Tom said. “What’re you doing up all hours of the night anyway?”

“It’s my purview as an artist to be burning the midnight oil,” she said.

“Oh, your purview,” he said, chuckling. “Wait, where are you?”

“Home, snug in my bed and all,” she said. “I’m not about to wander the streets at this hour.”

“So that was a one-off, the other night?” Tom asked.

“It was, come to think of it,” she said. “Wouldn’t mind doing it again though.”

“Maybe our next late night stroll will be in New York,” Tom said.

“Maybe.” She smiled at the thought of it. “I’ll try not to think too much on it, honestly, until we find out if it’s on or not.”

“Fair enough,” Tom said. “Sleep well.”

“You too.” She paused, never sure what to say during the end of their chats. “I’ll e-mail you in the morning.”

“I’ll look for it when I wake up,” he said. “Night, Shannon.”

“Night Tom.” She hung up before she could blurt out anything else, always feeling as though she was somehow hanging up on him. 

 

_Maine_

Shannon returned to the shared upstairs guest room at her father’s house after having been gently rebuffed in the kitchen. 

“Kathleen says there’s nothing we can do to help, and that dinner will be ready in half an hour.”

Tessa rolled her eyes as she put a hat on Aiofe, who was trying her level best to constantly move her head just out of her mother’s reach. 

“So, an hour then,” Tessa said, finally managing to jam the knit hat onto her daughter’s head. Aiofe reached up for it but Tessa was faster, tying the little ear flaps under her chin. 

“Did you make that hat?” Shannon asked. It had a decidedly old-fashioned look to it, but so far it was working a treat, Aiofe’s efforts to push it off of her head falling flat. 

“Donal’s mother made it for him when he was about a year old. Apparently, the dislike of hats is a family trait.” 

Aiofe left off trying to pry her hat off once Shannon reached for her, only too happy to be picked up. 

“We’re going for a walk,” Tessa said. “Do you want to come with us?” 

“I do, but my coat is hanging down in the kitchen,” Shannon said. “Kathleen and the others said they didn’t need any help but the moment I look like walking out of here that’ll change.”

“I think we’ve got some jumpers up here,” Tessa said, turning towards the closet. “You might even have made some of them.”

“Let me see.” Shannon opened the closet, pushing back a row of dresses and coats that had been stashed there by Kathleen’s daughters on their last visit, and reached back to the low shelves. She pulled out a long red cabled jumper made of heavy wool. “I did make this one, actually.” When she shook it out a cloud of dust motes escaped but it was sound. She pulled it over her head, instantly warmed by the dense fabric, and remembered sitting up in her window seat knitting during her first lonely winter back in New England. She shook off the eerie feeling of time traveling through her own life as she poked her head through, pushing back the sleeves. “I’m ready,” she said. “Let’s go.”

Slipping out the side door felt a lot like escaping, the busy sounds and crowded spaces of the house overwhelming after a short while. Shannon waited for Tessa, who stood on the lawn adjusting the sling that Aiofe was nestled in.

"Should we walk around the entire boulevard, you think?" Shannon asked as they walked down the driveway. The light was fading, a typical November evening, but the air was fine enough that the heavy jumper was almost too much. Shannon poked her thumb through a hole in the cuff, wrapping the excess fabric around her fingers.

"No, probably just out half a mile and back," Tessa said, adjusting the edge of the sling so Aiofe's face was protected from the wind that would be coming off the water. They walked through the quiet neighborhood, some of the porches still decorated with softening jack-o-lanterns. "That should give them time to get dinner settled, I think."

"Considering it was supposed to be an hour ago? Hopefully." It was a running joke in the family, that Kathleen's estimations of time for family meals were hopeful rather than binding, though of all things, punctuality to the meals was something their father insisted upon.

"I saw some jack-o-lanterns in Sligo this year," Tessa mentioned as they left the neighborhood and walked up the grassy embankment before the path that went around the cove. "I usually only see one or two but there were a good number this year."

"I thought they were done in a turnip, or something," Shannon said, a memory of a wood-cut seen in a spooky book from their childhood seeming to surface.

"Not anymore. Now people buy pumpkins to make the jack-o-lanterns, but they're just little sugar pumpkins, for cooking, so it doesn't work so well sometimes."

"Well, they'll come around. Were kids trick or treating?"

"We didn't get any, but I heard that they were. And teenagers will take any excuse to be rowdy, I guess." Tessa looked down at Aiofe, who had made some of her usual chirping and cooing noises as they had descended the embankment on to the path, and didn't see Shannon's smirk. It wasn't so long ago that Tessa had been a teenager seeking any excuse herself, though to hear her talk she seemed either much older or else possessed of a much more sedate history.

"Plus ça change," Shannon said, easing up the neck of her sweater. The wind off the water was harsher than she'd expected, but the fading colors of the sunset were brilliant on the flat water.

"So, you're flying out tomorrow?" Tessa picked the direction, walking towards the quieter side of the cove, where the big houses sat near the water.

"Just for the weekend. I'll be back Monday morning. But yeah, I'm leaving tomorrow at six."

Tessa adjusted the baby again. "I kind of can't believe you're flying to New York to see a guy who actually lives in the same city that you do."

"Except that he's hardly ever there, and he just happens to be here now, when I am."

"But he's not here, he's in New York," Tessa pointed out. "He could have just flown a little further, come to Maine to see you."

Shannon shoved her hands deep in the kangaroo pocket of the sweater and kicked at a small pile of dead leaves. They were brown, but dry and satisfyingly crunchy. "I didn't suggest it because it's already hard enough for him to get away for one weekend, and besides, it's not like he could have stayed here with us."

"I would have made room for him."

Shannon raised her eyebrows at her sister. "You know what I mean."

Tessa cackled. "Maybe I want revenge for the time you wound up staying in the guest room with Donal and I."

"Yeah, your husband, who you're married to, who you see every day, nearly. Not the same thing at all." Shannon made a face at Aiofe, who looked back at her with wide eyes, smiling when Shannon smiled.

"Still. This guy must be pretty great to be worth the trouble."

"Yeah, I think he is."

"You think?"

The path turned to crushed gravel over sand, and Shannon slowed down, grinding the heel of her boot against it, digging down with each step. "I mean, I'm still getting to know him, honestly. But he's a dedicated father, he's passionate about acting, he's shy in a lot of ways but he manages to be a good conversationalist, and he always seems to point out things that I didn't notice or hadn't thought of when we're talking, but he's never cocky about it. So yeah, I think he's pretty great."

"That's nice, but not really the dirty details I was looking for," Tessa pointed out.

"You were looking for dirty details? Shocking. You're usually such a prude."

"Not always." She looked hurt, though it was hard to tell in the low light. Shannon thought of apologizing, but Tessa was already pressing on. "But really, he must be. He's such a change from your usual girly waif man."

"I don't date girly waif men," Shannon said. "And I wouldn't know. Not yet, anyway."

"Really." Tessa stopped, stepping off the edge of the path as a couple with jogging strollers passed them. Shannon stood in the wet grass too, feeling it chill her through her boots. "This international booty call has new meaning, suddenly. I can see why you'd be so willing to go."

They turned to return home. "I really didn't think it would bother anyone, least of all you. We're both here for almost two weeks, and this way you get Dad to yourself for a couple of days, not even. I'm gone for about forty-eight hours. I know I tend to monopolize him."

"You two just get off on your tangents and the rest of us feel left behind," Tessa said. "I know you don't do it on purpose."

"Anyway, this could be good, right? You guys will have a good time."

"Yeah." Tessa stopped under a streetlight and reached out to hug her, quickly, Aiofe reaching out of the sling to grab on to Shannon's hair. "I shouldn't have made you feel bad about it."

"I will miss you, but this time I'll get to see you again so soon,” Shannon said, placing her hand over Aiofe’s to at least slow her down as she tried to grasp Shannon’s hair.

"True."

Shannon looked down at Aiofe as she gently took her hair back, tucking it behind her ear. "Can I wear Aiofe in the sling for a while?"

"It's too hard to change from person to person. You can hold her at dinner. She'll be bored with her high chair fast."

"Can I feed her off my plate?"

"Sure, if you're prepared to wear it."

"I am prepared." She stuck her tongue out at the baby once her hair was free, and smiled, delighted when Aiofe imitated her.

 

Later that evening Shannon walked around the quiet first floor of the house, checking that the front door was locked, every candle in the house extinguished and cool, the cat's water dish full-- all the little things she had once done as a student living in her father's house, always the last to bed. Now they were done by either her father or Kathleen, must have been, or else they went without being checked and good fortune or a whining cat kept them from being an issue, but once back in the house she couldn't stop herself.

The last room she checked was the den off the kitchen, the room that was alternately known as the TV room or the smoking room, depending on who was using it for what. She looked inside, surprised by the flickering light of the television, only to find Tessa there, leaning back against the back of the sofa, Aiofe still but alert on her lap.

"I didn't think you'd be up," Shannon said softly.

"Aiofe isn't taking to Eastern Standard Time," Tessa said in the same low voice. "She's not really wanting to party but she's just not sleeping."

"Will the light from the television keep her awake?"

Tessa shrugged. "It's better than sitting in the dark and being bored out of my mind, but she does seem to be entranced." The sound was off, but the black and white film looked familiar.

"Is this a Tall Man?"

Tessa nodded. "I don't remember which one. I think the lady knitting the lace there did it."

Shannon kept looking at the television, trying to remember when she might have watched it. She had no sincere love of old films but their mother did, and it was one of the few subjects they could all talk about without a fight breaking out.

"She looks shady," Shannon said. "Should we do that game where we count how many times someone lights up a cigarette?"

Tessa laughed, jostling Aiofe lightly. "I'm too tired for that."

"I'm just going to keep staring at this if it’s on," Shannon said. She went to the small desk in the corner of the room and took the lamp off, set it on the floor under the desk and switched it on, then turned the television off. The glow from the already weak lamp was further dimmed by the shade of the desk, and the overall effect was a soft glow, similar to a fireplace.

"That's better," Tessa said as Shannon walked back towards the arm chair. "Do you want to hold her for a while?"

"Of course." Shannon took Aiofe in her arms, carried her back to the chair and settled in. As usual Aiofe preferred to stand, Shannon's hands holding firmly to her just under her arms. She bounced her knees up and down, giving Aiofe something to balance on, laughing herself when Aiofe giggled.

"She really is not tired," Shannon said.

"Welcome to my world."

Shannon turned the baby around so they were face to face. "You are getting sleepy, Aiofe. See how dark it is? Time for sleeping. Unless you're a bat. Or a possum."

"My baby is not a possum," Tessa said, her eyes closed, head fully back against the back of the sofa.

"But a bat would be ok?"

"A cute little fruit bat, sure."

"I shall make you a bat costume," Shannon said. She could already imagine it, a black baby-gro with wings stiffened with interfacing but soft enough that she wouldn't hurt herself on them.

"Halloween is over," Tessa pointed out.

"Silly Mummy thinks costumes are only for Halloween," Shannon said, delighted when Aiofe looked right at her face while she was speaking. "They're for whenever you want."

"So you're really going to make my baby a bat costume?"

"Why not? Though to be honest, I'll probably con Edward into making it."

"See if you can get a princess dress or something out of him. He could probably make one out of the scraps from one of his own gowns."

"True. And a tiny turban." She leaned forward and kissed Aiofe's head, the sparse baby hair thin enough that she was sometimes still mistaken for a boy.

"When's your flight tomorrow?"

"Six,” Shannon said. "I have to get there by five."

"We might be up then for all I know. We could take you."

"I hope you're not still up then, and if you are, you probably shouldn't drive." Aiofe was settling down, her legs bending more and more. Shannon set her on her lap, and she tolerated sitting up straight, Shannon's hands supporting her.

"True enough. And you're home Monday morning?"

"I get in at noon," she said. She rubbed Aiofe's back in slow circles, trying to entice her to sleep, but she could see the bright reflections in her eyes through her peripheral vision. "Not as much demand for a commuter flight from New York to Portland."

"Not bad. We'll definitely be able to pick you up."

"Cool. Thanks." Aiofe leaned against her and Shannon cooed at her, running her hand over the crown of her head.

"I'm not mad at you for going. I'm sorry if you thought I was. I get possessive when I have more than one family member nearby. I just like to keep us all together."

"You're like a border collie," Shannon said. It was a comparison they'd made before.

"If I start corralling the dining room chairs, please have me committed."

"Will do."

Tessa was silent for so long that Shannon thought she had fallen asleep, but then she spoke, without picking her head up. "I'm kind of relieved that you've got someone that you're interested enough to make a trip for."

"Relieved?" Aiofe's leg twitched when Shannon spoke, and she gathered her closer, reaching for the throw that was draped over one edge of the ottoman, covering her.

"You haven't had a serious boyfriend in so long. It's just nice to think that you might be starting something good."

"Please don't jinx me," Shannon said, only half kidding.

"Really, though, you and David broke up nine years ago, and in that whole time I don't think you've ever brought anyone home."

"Couldn't have anything to do with the fact that home is thousands of miles from where I'm living? Or that I was splitting my time between two continents?" She bristled, tried to keep her tone under control, for Aiofe if nothing else. "I've been incredibly busy and I've really enjoyed my time. I've been doing as I pleased. And I was hardly celibate."

"I wasn't worried that you weren't getting any. I was just worried that you were lonely."

Shannon arranged the blanket around Aiofe's shoulders, smoothing it down over her back. She thought of the house she shared with Sarah and Max, thought of their living room and the kitchen filled with people, music, waking in the night sometimes to the sound of laughter and the moment of deciding, roll over and go back to sleep, or get up and investigate. "I wasn't lonely." She thought of the way people always seemed to come to the house in pairs, even if they weren't dating, precisely. There had been times that one of the men in the loosely affiliated group of friends had caught her eye, but it felt too much like a threat to her continued peace in the house to open that can of worms, considering that there had never been a sense of a bolt from the blue that they were meant for her. _Not like Tom_ her traitorous subconscious supplied, and she squashed the thought as soon as she felt it, actually feeling herself bend forward, just slightly, as if she could really crush the life out of the thought.

"You never seemed sad about it but you never really seemed to have anything serious on after David. Mom was afraid that you had been emotionally damaged."

Shannon started, and Aiofe jumped too, her little arms flailing out at the sensation of falling. Shannon wrapped her up tighter, hoping she'd fall asleep again. "Mom said that? When?"

"Maybe right around the time she got married to Jeremy? So, like, six years ago."

"Guess you never told her about Marc, then," Shannon said.

"Your _copain de baise_? Yeah, I didn't mention that you were screwing all over Paris."

Shannon felt herself cocking one eyebrow, even though Tessa was not even looking at her. "Jealous?"

"Yeah. A little bit. That guy was weirdly hot. And, you know, Paris."

"He was sexy ugly." Shannon stretched her legs up onto the ottoman and leaned back, Aiofe still against her, but not quite heavy and still enough for her to believe that the baby was asleep.

"That's a good way of putting it." Tessa's voice was distinct but soft, and Shannon wondered if she was going to fall asleep on the floor. "Why'd you break it off with him, anyway?"

Shannon weighed her answer. "He was only ever a fuck buddy, even though it went on for a while, and it just started to feel uneven. He was the only thing I had going and I knew he had other partners." The obvious, if superficial, similarity between her situation with him and Tom hit her suddenly, and she felt desperate to change the subject. "What else has mom said that you're not telling me?"

Tessa sat up straight, stretching out her shoulders. "Nothing else. She's said it a few times. You know how she gets on an idea. She's not really worried about you, anymore, she just thinks that you're like, some kind of monastic artist."

"That's totally what we're known for."

"And she told me she's resigned to the idea that you won't be having children."

Shannon snorted, relieved when Aiofe didn't budge. "You know what she said to me when I told her I wasn't planning on it? She said, good. That was it."

Tessa hissed through her teeth. "That's kind of harsh."

"I'm sure if I'd pressed her she would have said something about wanting me to be happy but it was such a quick response, I didn't want to know."

"For what it's worth, I think you'd be a good mum." Tessa stood and stretched, her head tilted back towards the ceiling. Shannon was glad her face was turned away, so Tessa wouldn't see the thin tight line her lips made, the sudden moue of distaste, the urge to push the subject away as if it were a plate of food she didn't want.

She managed to smooth herself out by the time Tessa looked over at her, found herself pleased by the unexpected statement, as, after all, Tessa tended to side with their mother on many things. "Thanks."

"What did Dad say, if you ever told him?" She stood next to the chair and held her arms out for Aiofe.

"He said, whatever you want honey." Shannon scooped the sleeping baby up, heavier and warmer than she'd seem while waking, and handed her over carefully.

"Yeah, that's Dad." She set Aiofe against her shoulder and stood up straight. "What? You're looking at me all funny."

Shannon shook her head. "Sorry, I was just thinking, sometimes I feel like I'm the younger sister now, except, you know, I'm not."

"You mean being a mum ages me?" Tessa didn't sound angry, though, more amused.

"More like it makes you seem like a real, legitimate adult. You've got a steady home, and real plans for the future. I love my life but sometimes I sort of feel like I'm drifting."

Tessa shifted Aiofe to her other shoulder as Shannon stood up. "You don't seem like you're drifting to me, but if you ever really wanted things to change, I think you'd change them."

Shannon leaned in to her offered one-armed hug, let herself rest her head on her sister's shoulder for a moment. "You're right." It was the only way to end the conversation, really. Too hard to explain that she didn't really feel like she was drifting, precisely, too difficult to articulate that she enjoyed renting a house with other people, enjoyed the flexibility of her work. Too late and too awkward now to mention that she'd begun making a solid name for herself in terms of artists in London. It would sound too much like she was taking it back, when there'd been some truth to it, would sound too much like she was rebutting Tessa's advice that really, boiled down to _so stop drifting._

Shannon stepped back, waited until Tessa was in the doorway with the dim light from over the stove illuminating her way through the kitchen before she moved to return the lamp to the desk and turn it off. She winced at the brighter light, more tired than she'd realized.

"I've already scheduled a cab to come get me for the airport," Shannon said as she followed her sister through the house. "I'll try not to wake you up in the morning. Actually, I can sleep on the fold out couch and then you two won't hear the alarm."

"That would be brilliant, thanks."

"No problem."

Shannon moved her already packed bag to the living room, folded out the sofa, and set the alarm on her phone, listening to the boards in the house creak as Tessa and Aiofe settled into the big bedroom upstairs. She was tired enough that the fold out bed was acceptable for sleep, despite the bar in the middle. Curling up tight suited her mood, the sudden doubt that had begun to grow, replacing the excitement she'd initially felt. Was Tom just another part of an endless adolescence? Was there a pattern repeating itself? She wanted him, badly, not only his touch but to hear everything he might say, to be near him, to know more about him. Would it be better, more advisable, to deny herself the gratification of being near him for the sake of greater potential happiness upon finding something more permanent, more stable, more normal? She gritted her teeth and curled up tighter, recognizing the incredible cliche of the lapsed Catholic contemplating denial.

After a moment she stretched out, tried to breathe deep and even. She tried to think ahead, to the weekend away. At worst, she decided, at the absolute worst, they'd meet and discover that the compatibility they thought they shared based on a few dates and hundreds of text messages and e-mails wasn't real. He was a gentle person, though, wouldn't make her find her own way home or get a different place to stay. Tom was a friend, if nothing else, now, and at worst, therefore, she'd have a weekend jaunt in Manhattan with a friend. As she started to slip into sleep she wondered about the best case scenario. She found herself thinking of his arms around her when she'd fallen asleep in his bed, thought about waking up with his hand in hers, even though they'd rolled apart in the night. She realized she couldn't quite imagine what the best case would be, but fell asleep feeling hopeful anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

Shannon felt her nervousness increasing only just as the plane was landing, though it was nothing to do with the flight itself. Tom's plane was due to arrive at precisely the same time as hers, and the plan was that they'd text each other as soon as they were landed. The feeling of arriving at an airport without having to double check her customs form threw her for a moment but she shook her head to clear it as the people around her began to get up out of their seats, as if being the first in the aisle was going to have an appreciable difference on the time that they arrived in the actual terminal. She sat still for so long that one of the last people to walk past her, a middle aged man in a suit, leaned towards her and asked, discreetly, if she was alright.

"I'm fine, thanks," she said, warmed by his concern, wondering what had compelled him to be dressed for business on a Saturday morning, flying from a small city into JFK. She didn't have much time to think of it, though, collecting her carry on from the overhead and falling into line behind the others, grateful for the fact that this was a flight that included a passageway into the terminal so at least there were no slippery stairs to deal with, and she wouldn't actually be rained upon. She walked into the chaos of the terminal, steps behind the first aisle shovers, as she knew she would be. She stood next to a pillar to try to stay out of the way as she took her phone out of airplane mode, waiting a moment to see if a notification of a message would show up. When none did she looked around, noting the gate she was standing nearest, and tapped out a text.

_Near gate 3 in the C terminal. Where should I meet you?_

She leaned against the pillar, trying to make herself small, bag at her feet. There were no open chairs, and as usual in an airport on a rainy day everyone seemed to be on edge, just waiting to hear that there was a delay or cancellation, as if it were even very likely.

She jumped when her phone buzzed quickly with a text, taking a moment to open it on the not so familiar display.

_Look behind you._

She turned around, not sure where to focus on in the huge space, found him standing next to the next pillar over. If she hadn't known that he was nearby she couldn't have picked him out, swathed in a huge gray coat, a black watch cap pulled down tight over his forehead. She tried to shake her first impression of this version of him, the fact that he looked practically menacing with his face in repose, when he saw her looking and smiled, his face transformed. She walked over to him, dragging her little suitcase, having to stop twice for children dragging their own brightly colored cases and the attendant parents, practically grinding her teeth. When she finally got to him he was laughing quietly.

"It's a zoo in here." As he spoke he reached out one arm, pulling her in tight against his chest, and she was surprised to feel the thinness of the coat against him-- some of the bulk she'd assumed was the fabric was actually him.

"It is." She squeezed him as tight as she could with one arm wrapped awkwardly around his shoulders, then stepped back. "Shall we?"

"It can't be soon enough." To her surprise he took her free hand, leading her through the throngs of people who seemed to part instinctively as he walked, unlike the usual buffeting she seemed to get in places like this.

On the sidewalk outside the line for the taxi rank was as long as she had feared, but she gamely turned towards it. "We could take the AirTrain to Howard Beach and connect with the subway there," she offered.

"I have a car."

She felt the horrified expression her face was making but couldn't seem to hide it in time. "You rented a car? Do you even drive on the right? I'm actually not up to driving into Manhattan today." He'd told her already that he'd only been driving for about four years, and didn't do so frequently at all.

"No, I mean, I hired a car service." He tugged her gently away from the yellow cab line.

"How will they know where to get you?"

"I texted them right after I texted you, told them what door we were coming out of, and here it is." A sleek black sedan was pulling up slowly to the curb, window rolling down as the driver stopped. Shannon let go of Tom's hand as he walked over, feeling somehow horribly exposed and conspicuous.

Tom seemed entirely unconcerned, though, looking over his shoulder to beckon to her. "This is us, come on." She let the driver take her bag while Tom opened her door for her. She slid across the leather seat, surprised when the door shut, Tom walking around to the other siide of the car to let himself in. She shrank back against her own side, trying to pretend that she hadn't been budging over for him.

Tom didn't seem to notice at all, leaning over to kiss her cheek quickly, only buckling himself in after a pointed look from her as she did up her own belt. "It's really good to see you."

"You too." Shannon had to look at him rather than out the window, the traffic around the airport too much to take in given that she had absolutely no control over the size of the gaps that the driver seemed entirely comfortable slipping into. "I almost didn't recognize you with the hat."

He pulled it off, his hair fanning out with the static for a moment. He must have felt it because he pushed the short strands back down on to his head as he stuffed the hat in his pocket. "It was cold in Pittsburgh this morning. I've never been approached in the states, but it still feels better to be hidden."

"I can see that." She let her hand rest on the seat, flexing her fingers from where she'd been holding on a bit as they'd worked their way out of the airport traffic, and Tom reached over and took her hand in his, nearly wrapping his fingers all the way around the bridge of her knuckles. She tried to disguise her smile by talking. "So, where are we staying?"

He used his free hand to pull a crumpled piece of paper form the pocket of his coat. "East 82nd and 5th," he read, trying to smooth out the paper.

It took her no time at all to place the address. "That's the Met."

"Oh, ok, it's this other one then. East 81st between Madison and 5th." He nodded, stuffing the paper back in his pocket.

She could feel herself squeezing back against his hand, giddy but nervous again. "I've walked through that neighborhood before. I didn't think there were any hotels there."

"There aren't. It's a holiday flat."

She couldn't help the smile at the thought of staying in an actual flat, just steps from an entire row of museums. "I can't believe you found a place that close to the Met, it must be right next to it."

"You said you wanted to go there. I thought it might be good if it wasn't too far away." He was speaking softly, his voice low, but carrying, and Shannon wondered if their driver heard the current of salacious intent there. She felt her face heat, looked out the window but didn't let go of his hand, wondered if he could see her in the reflection, still smiling but trying to hide the giddy rush she got from that. "I mean, because I don't know the subway and all," he said, tugging on her hand a little, asking her to turn back to him.

"Right, of course." She ran the side of her thumb over the back of his hand, reassuring. "You did very well with planning, I'm sure." She had let him make the reservations, trusting him, when he had told her to leave it up to him, that they would wind up somewhere neither too opulent nor seedy. Unless they were in a windowless basement flat, the neighborhood at least demanded that it wouldn't be seedy. A tiny part of her mind demanded to know what it had cost, schemed about looking it up on the internet the moment she was home, but when she saw how Tom looked, relaxed but waiting, just like her, she put it out of her mind.

The rain only served to make the brownstones look quainter, the sidewalks quiet as they approached. When the car stopped next to the curb Shannon couldn't wait to properly see the place they'd be staying, hopped out while Tom collected the luggage. As she looked up at the facade, paler than most of the homes around it, the rain started back in earnest. She turned her hood up and stood up on the stoop under the small overhang, hoping she was standing on the right one. Tom joined her, carrying their bags like they were nothing.

"Can you ring the bell?" Tom asked.

She did, a feeling of trepidation seeping in around the edges. "There's only one bell. Are we staying in someone's house?"

"Give me a little credit?" He didn't have time to say more, as the door opened, a pleasant looking woman with long gray hair standing aside to let them in.

"Come right in,” she said. “It's only supposed to get worse."

Shannon looked around the small entryway, quickly admiring the flying staircase and the heavy molding around each door frame, while Tom confirmed that yes, they were Tom and Shannon. Their host had left the door to her own apartment open, the interior bright and colorful, the sounds of morning talk radio and something that sounded like a screeching child coming from inside, a combination that didn't quite seem right.

"Birds," the woman said. "Something about the radio makes them want to talk. I don't even hear them anymore."

"Oh, birds, of course." Shannon followed her up the stairs, offering to take her bag from Tom who just shook his head.

"You won't hear them at all, or anything for that matter. This building is very solid. If you turn the heat on you might have some tapping in the radiator pipes but it's so protected that I haven't had to turn mine on yet at all."

"That's very fortunate." They got to the highest landing, and Shannon felt her head swimming with the unexpected sensation of suddenly being in a new place, conversing with someone whose name she didn't know. She rested her hand on the newel post, not actually swaying but unsteady, Tom's hand at the small of her back a welcome touch.

"I'm so sorry, I know you're Shannon, but I never introduced myself. I'm Olive." She held out her hand, and Shannon let go of the post as she took it.

"Pleased to meet you."

"There's only one key," Olive told them, turning back to the door and opening it. "You must be very careful not to lose it. The other key on this ring is to the front door. Should you lock yourself out you can call me, but naturally I'd prefer it if you didn't lock yourself out."

"Of course."

Once inside, Olive seemed to decide that Shannon was the one who should be entrusted with the information about how to work the electric cooker (obvious) and where the spare linens were (in a trundle under the sofa, not so obvious). The entire flat was one large room with a curtained alcove to one side of the kitchen for the bed, the bathroom taking up the other side of the kitchen.

"The shower is a bit of a pain but you would have seen that in the pictures," Olive said as she continued the tour into the washroom. Shannon didn't tell her that she'd never seen the advert, but saw what she meant. The bathroom was fitted with a modern sink and toilet, but an ancient and enormous clawfoot tub with actual claws on its actual feet, the shower a _fin-de-sieacle_ afterthought, the showerhead large enough but fit to the side of the tub on a chrome hook, its hose neatly looped and attached to the back of the faucet. "You flip the lever like this, and the water is diverted to the shower. You have to hold it above your head to get a good rinse, but other than that it's alright."

"I'm sure it will be fine," Shannon reassured her, only too pleased that there was a bath she could soak in up to her chin.

"It helps that you have someone who can hold it up for you," Olive said as they walked out. Shannon coughed into her fist as they walked past Tom, who had heard it all and valiantly refrained from smirking at her.

Olive showed them the short list of rules for the flat and the much larger binder full of information about the city and Museum Mile in particular, then handed over the keys and left, Shannon and Tom standing on either side of the small table.

"So, what do you think?" Tom actually looked nervous, as if she might find fault with something.

"It's completely charming," she said, the first thing that came to mind, even with the gloom of the rain outside. "I love it." She had already slipped her shoes off by the door, following Olive's lead, so her tread was quiet as she slipped around the table to stand next to him. "Someone gave this place a lot of attention." The interior walls were a fresh bright white, one tall bookcase taking up the one bit of wall that wasn't claimed by the flat television or the architectural contours of the flat while the bricks were visible behind the bed and over the sink. The books there looked like they might have been chosen for their bright colors as much as topic, but they went with the rest of the flat, the plain walls and neutral linens set off by bursts of color that looked natural, not planned. The palate was modern and made the most of a small space, but wasn't at all what the interior would have been decorated in originally. There were plenty of lights, too, mostly track lighting on the ceiling, but a few lamps as well, one next to the bed and one on the bookshelf. The only natural light was in the kitchen, the window over the bed, and the washroom.

"Come here," Tom said, pulling her close. "You can talk to me about architecture later."

She rested her hands on his shoulders as she leaned into him, then wrapped her arms around him, hands clasped behind his neck. "You'll need to consult someone else for that, I'm afraid."

"Mmm. Not interested." He leaned his head against hers, and she let her fingers unclasp, traced the triangle shape that the upper portion of his trapezius made where it connected to his neck.

"Good. I'm not all that interested in architecture either."

"We should take off our jackets and stay awhile," she said, even as she leaned her head against his shoulder.

She couldn't help but stare at him as he pulled his jacket off, the sheer size of his chest and shoulders appreciably different from the way he'd looked just over a month ago. He caught her looking as she had her own jacket half off, one arm still in a sleeve. She tried to move faster to make up for it, got stuck in the damp fabric and wound up just holding still as he took it off her shoulders, bringing both jackets to the hooks by the door. She wasn't as surprised by the back of his neck, having felt it, but the change was still visible.

"Something wrong?" He had his arms at his sides once he'd turned to face her, shoulders back as if he were posing, or, more likely, that he was aware of her scrutiny and making a conscious decision not to let them round inward.

"No, I was just surprised at how much you'd changed since I last saw you."

He shrugged, coming back towards her. "I had to be believable as a MMA fighter."

She reached out to touch the divot between his shoulder joint and the top of his pec, pushing in just a little, the warm cotton of his tee-shirt moving easily with her touch. "I would have believed it."

"Well, you haven't been watching UFC lately then."

"Or ever." She traced over his bicep, letting her fingers curl around to grasp the back of his tricep, kneading her thumb against his bare skin as she worked down to his elbow. It was only when her fingers pressed into the smooth curve of bone there that she realized he was holding completely still. "I'm sorry."

"For not watching cage fighting? Don't be." He touched the side of her neck with his other hand, traced the edge of her shirt and swept his fingers up against the base of her skull, letting her hair fall over the back of his hand before he brought it back to her neck, fingers just resting against her clavicle now.

His touch made her exploration feel less one-sided, more balanced, and she wrapped her hand around his forearm and slid it down towards his hand, not remotely able to close her fingers around him, not even at his wrist. She traced the join of the underside of his arm and his palm, then slipped her fingers into his. "No, for treating you like a specimen."

He smiled with just half his mouth, running his hand over her shoulder, the entire joint nearly fitting into his palm, mimicking her hand's path down his arm. She shivered when he touched the pale underside of her arm, grasped back when he took her hand. "Do you hold hands with your specimens often?"

"No, I don't have specimens...." She trailed off as she lost her train of thought. "No."

"Then you're not." He gently pulled on her hands, moving them towards the sofa. "Sometimes when I'm like this people find it off-putting. My mum thinks I look scary."

"She must know better."

"Yeah." When he smiled this time it was nice and even, showing his upper teeth, a tiny imperfection that softened him, somehow, though she could see how in the right context it could make him look tougher. "Do you think I look scary?"

"No." She thought of the obvious difference between his sculpted muscles and her own far softer body. Tom had given her no reason to think that he'd be comparing the two of them, and she felt strong, most of the time, but the difference between them was so obvious that it invited comparison. She tried to push the thought from her mind.

 _Does Ben compare himself to you, does Ben think you look scary?_ she thought to herself, then pushed the thought away. Tom was here with her, not Ben.

He had to let go of one of her hands when they sat on the sofa, letting her lean against his chest as he settled into the corner, wrapping his arms around her waist. She would only have to lean her head back to kiss him, but she held still for a moment, enjoying the stillness of the room, rain against the windows, their breath so quiet as to almost not be a sound above that.

"I'm kind of glad it's raining," she said, her eyes slipping closed as she eased against him, a tension she hadn't realized she was holding leaving her as her spine curved to rest entirely against him.

"Yeah? Why?" When he spoke she could feel it in her back, even as quiet as he was, mouth so close to her ear.

She tilted her head sideways and looked up, found herself almost nose to nose with him as he looked down at her. "Because if the sun were out, I'd be tempted to say, it's Saturday, we have to get to the Met early. But it's raining, and I haven't got an umbrella." She shrugged, one shoulder sliding against his chest. "So I can't go out."

"What should we do?" He managed, somehow, to make his face the picture of innocence, forehead wrinkled in confusion.

"I think we'll figure something out." He wasn't moving so she reached back and held the back of his head, pulling him down towards her.

"Should I not mention that Olive left us umbrellas in the stand by the front door?" She could feel his breath against her mouth when he spoke.

"Shh."

He tasted faintly of mint, and something else that she remembered from the other times that she'd kissed him, something that didn't really have a taste but reminded her of hot water against her tongue. He shifted and pulled on her until she was sitting on his thigh, legs across his lap and dangling down over the side of the sofa, and she let herself lean into him, no thoughts about whether or not he could breathe with her leaning on his chest.

She ran the back of her fingers over his face, his skin smoother now than it had been the last two times that she'd seen him in the flesh. She traced the shell of his ear, the nape of his neck, then returned to his clavicle, smiling against his mouth when he shivered at just the right amount of light touch.

They both leaned back at the same time, and she leaned back just a bit more to be able to see him in focus.

"I can't believe this is only the fifth time I'm seeing you," he said, reaching up to push a lock of hair out of her eyes.

"I was just thinking that." She could feel her hair migrating back into her face, pulled the elastic off her wrist and pulled it back, not missing the quick flicker of disappointment on his face when she did. "Trust me, it's better if my hair is corralled."

"What is?" He tried for an innocent look, failed, but gave in as she leaned forward to kiss him, fingers gentle on the back of her neck.

"I missed you," he said, leaning back for a moment, keeping her at arm's length. "Which sounds mental, considering, but it's true."

"I missed you too."

"Did you wind up going to Paris before you went to Maine?"

She nodded. "I didn't realize we hadn't even talked since then. Yes, I did, but I had to fly back to London before I flew to Boston, because the cost of a round-trip ticket with a different origin and terminus is just too ridiculous."

"You could have flown back into Paris, then home to London?"

"Could have, but when I'm at the end of a trip, I just want to be done. The thought of having to take Ryanair back to England after having been home for two weeks was driving me to distraction."

He raised his eyebrows. "You did it again. You referred to Maine as home."

"It's the closer one, right now," she said. "Give me a few weeks, I'll start referring to London as home too."

"Little nomad," he said, arms slipped round her to either side of her elbows, jostling her gently from side to side.

She thought of telling him that no one had referred to her as a little _anything_ since she'd been a child, but let it go. "It's not a bad way to be. I just have to remember which side of the road to drive on. No lefts on red, for example."

"You ever mess it up?"

"I went around a rotary in the wrong direction the other day, but it was a very small one."

Tom laughed out loud. "Oh, as long as it was a small one."

"There was one other driver and he, wisely, just held still until I was on the road I wanted." She still blushed thinking of it. Sometimes in the states she had to reassure herself, yellow line on the left, white line on the right, but it was usually only for a few days. "I basically haven't been back to that part of town since that incident."

"Probably a good idea, I have to admit. Though I don't drive if I can help it, in any country, so I can't really talk."

"Indeed." Her arms were still caught between both of his, the only place she could reach straight out. She did, stretching her back as she leaned back against his hands, fingers stretching towards his throat, resting on his collarbones. The warmth that was in her was still confined to a sort of column between her throat and her stomach, manageable, even pleasant, just to sit with it for a while.

"So, if you don't want to go outside," he adjusted his hands so they were pressing into the small of her back, pulling her towards his chest.

She let herself be moved, then gave in to her own preference, leveraging herself against his shoulder to get one knee over his lap, seating herself just before his knees. "As if you can't think of anything."

"Can you?" She felt a stripe of cooler air against her back as he let his fingers rest against the top of her jeans, flipping her shirt up for just a moment, fingertips scratching lightly against her skin.

She pretended to consider. "I think that more than once you might have mentioned wishing that you could kiss me goodnight. You probably owe me some kisses." She'd been falling asleep around midnight on days when he was up by five, her day ending while his was only just beginning, the only quiet point in either day when they could steal a few moments to talk.

"Hmmm." He slid his hands around, holding her hips, pressing the heel of each hand into her IT band, tight enough that it almost stung but felt good too, a comfortable stretch as he pushed it in. "To be a proper goodnight kiss though you'd have to be tucked in already."

She looked over his shoulder to where the curtained bedroom was. "We have the technology."

He licked his lips, and the warm stripe that had been heating her all morning spread, flaring, a little like fear but more like the happiest anticipation. "Yeah?"

"If you like." She tilted one shoulder out before she even knew she was doing it, then too self conscious to take it back, held on his lap in a sort of half _contrapposto_ , telling the voice in her head that was telling her she was awful at flirting to shut up.

"I want that."

"You want me to get in the bed?" She steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders, slipping closer to him. _He's not going to think you're ridiculous. He wouldn't be asking you to meet him if he didn't want you._

"I want us both to get in that bed." Tom let up the pressure against her hips, the feeling rushing back there the same as the flare that was threatening to eat her up.

"Me too." She pushed down on his shoulders as she tried to move easily off his lap, got caught with her jeans against his, had to slide less gracefully to one side.

He stood up and leaned down to kiss her, hand tilting her chin up. "Let me go wash my face. I feel like it's still got airplane air clinging to it."

"Guess I should have thought of that before I started wearing the face off of you." Her heart felt jackrabbit fast in her chest, mind thinking ahead to the next minute, the minutes after that, how to get to her bag, how to make sure there were condoms near the bed, so much else, so much noise that it had to be what the roaring in her ears was. "I could stand to do that myself."

"You go ahead."

She stood up, surprised at how steady she was, really, and went to her bag, still by the door. The toiletries and condoms were all in one pouch, innocuous enough in a small black bag. He looked over his shoulder at her, once, curiously, before turning back to the coffee table in front of the sofa.

In the bathroom she did wash her face, then brushed her teeth, simply because she had everything there, an odd desire to kill time, to not look too eager pushing at her even as she pushed the notion aside. Outside the thin door there was the sudden loud sound of classical music, as if an entire horn section had just materialized, followed by Tom's muffled curse as he turned the volume down. She laughed, washed her hands again, drank a handful of water from the faucet and grimaced at the metallic taste.

When she stepped back into the main room she felt cooler, less like she was spinning inside her head. She grabbed her own bag from the door and carried it towards the bed. Tom looked at her, leaning over the back of the sofa.

"All set?"

"Yeah. See you in a minute." The curtain that separated the bed from the rest of the flat had a sturdy tie-back and a hook. She left it open, then closed it again once she was inside, feeling oddly exposed. The bedside table had a drawer in it, and she stashed the small black bag with the strip of condoms on top there, then hesitated again, wondering why she was hiding them.

She pulled down the duvet and the top sheet, did a quick check of the edge of the mattress for signs of bedbugs, working it up off the box spring. She turned on the lamp, angling the shade to illuminate the edge between the bed rail and the box spring-- both the box spring and the mattress were encased in a white zippered sheath, meaning that their landlord was paranoid, but not suffering an infestation at the moment. She set everything to rights and turned off the lamp, looking at the turned down bed, ran her hands over the sheets, soft gray and smooth, a single stripe of red down the middle of the duvet the only interruption in that palate, complementing the sky outside the window. She heard the clunk of the water in the pipes, willed herself to get into motion again. She thought of crawling right in, thought of the rain soaked and street grungy cuffs of her jeans, the general grunge of airplane seat that had to be clinging to them still. The bed was so pristine, it would be a shame to fill it with grit. She had stripped her jeans off before she could think on it further, folded them and set them over the top of her bag, feeling like she really was getting ready for bed.

She could hear Tom moving about in the kitchen area, just on the other side of the wall. She undid her bra with a happy sigh, pulled it off from under her shirt, and leapt into the bed just as she heard his footsteps getting nearer, pulling the blankets up to her chest as she sat against the bars of the headboard, pillow behind her back. Just as he pushed the curtain aside she realized she'd forgotten to take her socks off, started furtively trying to kick them off, only to start giggling when he looked curiously at her feet moving underneath the blanket.

"I forgot to take my socks off," she explained.

He stood still in the middle of the small floor space, holding a bottle of water. "Why would you have to," he started, then saw her jeans folded neatly over her case. "Oh." When he looked back at her he was smiling, anticipatory, even calculating. "I guess you don't wear your jeans to bed."

"Neither do you, I'd wager." She held her hand out, gesturing for him to hand the bottle over. "Did you try to drink from the tap?"

He nodded.

"Mmm, rookie mistake for both of us then." She drank, then screwed the cap back on, watching as he moved closer to sit on the edge of the bed.

"If you're winding me up and you've got a pair of trackies on under there," he pushed at her hip as if he might be able to tell through the duvet.

She shrugged, reaching out to put the bottle on the windowsill. "I might sleep in trackies, depending on how cold it is." She rolled on to her back, sinking into the pillow as she looked up at him. "It's not all that cold in here, really."

He turned away from her quickly and she propped herself up on one elbow to look around him.

"Ooh, socks off first, very classy."

"That's me all over."

She couldn't hide her grin as he stood in the small empty space in the middle of the floor once more, the fly of his jeans already hanging open, waistband perched precariously on his hips. "So, are you going to join me or what?"

She tried to look everywhere at once, the way he ducked his head when he grasped his jeans, long feet lifting one at a time, bones so visible through his skin in that one place, the fine hair on his legs and the way the muscles moved around his knees as he took one step towards her, then rested his knee against the edge of the mattress once he'd picked up the blankets, high enough to get a look at her bare legs.

He slid in, tossing the blankets over his shoulder, keeping them enveloped. She rolled towards him, legs tangling together, warm and almost too much when his knee crushed against the inside of her thigh in one instance, awkward and easy in turns. He lifted and pulled her close, her head hanging back towards the bed, hair barely brushing against the pillows as he kissed her, warm and insistent, his forearm coming up to hold the back of her head, all the easier for him to press their mouths together.

When they parted she was actually gasping, hands scrambling at his back, trying to hold on to his shirt as he lowered them both against the mattress, as if she were about to be dropped from a much greater height. They were lying face to face when she realized that the couple of inches he had on her felt bigger when they were lying down. She rested her feet on the top of his, pushing down when he flexed his feet up, giving her a firm surface to push against, the thin bones shifting under her toes.

"Your feet are freezing," he said, but didn't move away.

"Base lies. My feet are toasty warm." She kneaded against him with her toes, as if illustrating her point.

"No, those are my feet that are toasty warm." He had moved one hand up to cup the back of her head, kissed her quickly while she was laughing, wet and imprecise.

Under the covers his body was a map she couldn't quite figure out, here were his feet, here were his shoulders, but everything in between was just a sense of warm and solid, the curve of his hip the only thing she could feel with any precision as she leaned into him. She pushed on his higher shoulder, leaned into his hip, planted her feet on the bed as she rolled him onto his back, the fact that he was _letting_ her abundantly clear. She didn't care, triumphant as she held herself gingerly over him, arms spread wide to either side of him, a knee to either side of one leg, elbows bent so her shirt just brushed against his.

"You like being on top?" He ran his hands down the curve of her back, leaving his fingers splayed over her lower back while his thumbs stroked at the soft skin on the inside of each hip, pushing the band of her pants aside just slightly.

The scrape of the fabric and the warm sweep of his skin against hers made her shiver, arms giving in as she let herself lie on his chest, looking up at him. "Why don't you stay a while and find out?"

He was very still under her. "Is that what we're doing?"

"Well, yeah." She tugged at his shirt, a half hearted attempt, considering she was still lying on him.

He grinned at her, gently slid out from beneath her to start pulling at it himself, got frustrated when it was trapped under him, the bed big but not quite big enough to toss about without risk of catching her with an elbow. He threw back the covers and stood, pulled off the shirt and threw it into the corner of the room.

In the dim light from the overcast day he almost seemed to glow, golden but subdued, tattoos like his own personal shadows.

She realized there was something she didn't know. "Do you have any tattoos on your back?"

He turned around, showing her the smooth skin on his back, shrugged as if to say that he wasn't sure why he hadn't yet used that particular canvas, the movement of his shoulders showing off the definition in his muscles.

"Oh, fuck me," she said, almost a sigh, the words out before she even realized it.

He turned around. "Way too easy darling."

She laughed out loud, the undercurrent of fear that had been simmering under her desire gone, taken up by nothing but happy expectation. "Sorry."

He pointed at her. "Come on. You've had a good look. Off with it."

She pushed the duvet down to the end of the bed, considered how she wanted him to see her, decided on up on her knees, all the better to throw her shirt at him once she had taken it off over her head.

He deflected it easily, never taking his eyes off of her as she sat back on her heels, leaning forward just a bit, hands on her knees and chin up, daring him to come back to her. As he looked his hand drifted to the waistband of his boxer briefs, toying with it, folding it away from his skin until she could see the barest hint of the cut of his hip.

"Take those off and come back here." She slid back down on to her side, one arm laid on the bed propping up her breasts, obvious artifice, but still effective.

"You going to take yours off?"

She twisted her hips back and forth as if she were trying to get comfortable, imagining how the red cotton would show against her fair skin, bold in the gray room. "You do it."

He moved quickly, then, just an impression of bending, quick steps, pants gone when he stood up, just the barest glance at his cock because she was still trying to look at all of him, all at once, harder to focus on him as a whole once he was next to her again, gathering her up. His cock was a firm warm pressure against the inside of her hip and she rocked against it even as he got his fingers hooked around the top of her pants.

He gasped, losing his grip for a moment. "What's got into you? You were timid this morning."

She pulled away from him, everything on pause as she scrutinized his face. "Did you like me better that way?"

His answer was emphatic, and instant. "No."

She threw her arms around his neck and moved her legs as he tugged on her pants, helping him work them down as far as he could reach and then kicking them to the end of the bed. "Good," she said, her face pressed closed to his neck. "You make me brave."

His hands were flat and still against her back. "You shouldn't have to feel brave to be with me. If you want," he was angling away from her, and she stopped him, one leg hooked over both of his.

"I meant bold." She held him tighter, arms and legs pulling at him, his chest yielding not at all when she pressed into him.

"Well, that's good," he said, breath warm against her ear. "Bold is good."

She leaned back just enough to be able to look at him, tracing a line from his neck to his shoulder, down his arm to his side, sliding her hand flat against the inward curve of his pelvis, fingers sliding over the patch of springy hair and resting against smooth warm skin on the other side. She glanced up at him for a moment, saw nothing but quiet anticipation on his face, slid her hand down to gently encircle his cock as she leaned away, letting him pull away from her hip.

He was warm and smooth in her hand, the thrill of holding him so completely by such a relatively small part coming over her as she wrapped her fingers around him, dragging her hand towards the tip, shift and slide of his foreskin against the harder core looser as she got to the end. She let her thumb and forefinger grasp him tight against the underside of his head, thumb rubbing against the soft skin there, contemplated pushing back the blanket and looking to see what she was doing, still afraid of hurting him somehow, making a wrong move, fingers in the wrong place, dry skin against something soft. He saw her hand on the edge of the blanket and gently pushed it back.

"Shhh," he said, though she hadn't been making a sound. "My turn."

She took her hand away reluctantly, letting him shift her, just a bit, her leg still thrown over both of his, holding her open. Even under the blanket she felt cool and exposed, shivering as his hand smoothed down over her hip, resting on her thigh, sliding down to stroke the sensitive skin on the inside.

"Sorry to push you away but it's been, um, forever." He was letting his hand linger there, tracing from her mid thigh to knee, then back up again on the other leg, fingers dipping behind her knee to tickle slowly at the soft skin there.

"It's fine," she said, relieved, a bit, that he hadn't simply wanted to get away from her touch. She thought of telling him it didn't matter, that she didn't care if he got off now, but she kept silent, knowing she wouldn't really mean it.

He finally moved his hand higher, cupping her, heel of his hand firm against her pubic bone, grinding against her hair, fingers pressing up, prying her gently apart.

Her head fell back and he shifted, moving so his arm was holding her head up, leaned down to kiss her as his fingers kept sweeping over her, slowly, opening her a bit more every time, tracing each fold and curve. She sighed, wiggled against him, wanting more but wanting to give in to the fact that he had his own pace, not teasing her, exactly, but taking his time to map her out. She hitched her leg higher up over his hip, opening herself more, pushed against him when he rested his fingers just over her cunt but he slipped away, sliding soft and slick over her clit. She hummed into his mouth, pushed herself closer to him, tried to chase his fingers but he was always one tiny step ahead of her, tracing circles around her clit now but never touching it.

"Come on," she whispered when they broke apart, not even planning to say anything but not surprised when it slipped out. He laughed, low and soft, fingers petting firm but not quite enough, carefully smoothing her hood down, never brushing against the part of her that felt the most swollen and exposed. She rocked against him, got just a moment of the motion that she wanted, only to have him change again, teasing wet and soft over the very tip of her, making her jump a little each time, heel kicking him in the back of his thigh.

He paused and looked at her, fingers still and firm against the very edges, holding her open with nothing else touching her but air.

"Harder."

He didn't change the position of his hand at all. "You are demanding when you're bold, aren't you?"

When she smiled it showed her teeth. "You have no idea."

He moved, finally, fingers sliding down to rest over the edges of her cunt, barely pressing, then easing back just when it was almost enough, not sliding up again, just resting, moving with her easily as she tried in vain to get closer.

"Please please please," she whispered, words becoming a whimper when he finally pushed in, sliding in until she could feel his other bent fingers pressing against her skin.

He held still for a moment, then moved in small increments, still mapping, sliding over every unseen inch. She was twisting her hips trying to get him to slip in, that last fraction of an inch, almost there, almost, when suddenly he turned his hand a different way than she'd been expecting, still deep but so new it knocked the breath out of her.

"Alright?"

"It's good." Everything was blurry except his face, the room so warm she wanted to throw the covers off but still comforted enough by the cover that she didn't. He moved by hardly moving at all, now, just steadily pressing, while something inside her did all the work, waves of warmth covering her from her navel to her toes, then sweeping up over her face, not the hot prickling of a blush, but something else. Just as it began to be too much, the heat making something feel thick and sickly in the back of her throat, he moved, sliding back, relief and disappointment all at once, and then back, knuckles firm against the elastic give of her muscles, holding tight for just a second this time and then away.

He kept his fingers inside as he rolled her onto her back, lying on his side beside her, leaving one hand free now to trace the curves of her breasts, skimming over her stomach and down her thighs. She let her eyes close, for a moment, then opened them, the ceiling seeming so bright white after that moment of dark, the sight of him looking down towards his own hands a relief, familiar, already. He glanced back at her, pressed a quick kiss to her mouth, then leaned back again, leaving the air around her face just a fraction cooler than the rest of her.

It wasn't building to anything, wouldn't, but it felt safe and exciting at the same time, a surfeit of swirling liquid heat that was pooling not just in her belly but all over, a gentle promise instead of a taunt.

"Can I look at you?" he asked.

She looked at his mouth when he talked, trying to make sense of what he was asking her, then realized that he had his free hand wrapped around the edge of the blanket, tugging gently. She nodded.

"Will you be warm enough?" he asked.

She couldn't help but grin at him. "Oh yeah, I'll be warm enough." She threw the covers off herself, shifting with him as he moved, too tangled in her to move freely. He pulled his fingers free as he kissed the inside of her upraised thigh, a quick apology for his clumsiness. When he settled he was lying between her legs, looking up at her, one arm wrapped around her hip and resting flat against the flare of her pelvis, only his smallest finger brushing against her belly.

"Still feeling bold?"

"Yeah." She rested her head back, eyes closed, as he started kissing his way up her thigh, using his elbow to push the angle of her hip wider open. She took the hint and slid her other heel up the bed, digging it into the mattress as she adjusted herself, completely exposed and so wet that she actually felt cold.

His breath was a welcome warmth against her, the first broad touch of his tongue simply heat and softness, comfortable, almost soothing. He opened his mouth wide around her, sucking her flesh against the flat of his tongue, arms wrapping up around her hips, hands clasped against her as he held her still.

Just as it began to be too much, frustrating instead of warming, he turned his focus back to her clit, point of his tongue pressing, then nudging with his lips. He unclasped his hands, used his fingers to pull up on her hood, tightening everything to a sharp point, sending a tingle that felt dangerous shooting up her spine. She stiffened, and he held still, waiting.

"Did I hurt you?"

She tilted her head up, then pushed herself up on her elbows, just enough to look down at him. "No.”

He leaned his head against her thigh. "I won't, I swear."

She still felt exposed, a bundle of nerves just sitting beyond any protection, cool air against wet skin, the slightest shift of him making a tiny breeze that made the nerves zing underneath the thinnest of skin.

"Ok." While she caught her breath the desire for him to keep going, to try whatever it was that he was going to try overcame everything else. “Go ahead.”

He didn't make her wait, just brought his mouth closer, warmth enveloping her, then the lightest, softest touch of his tongue, barely tracing over her, jolt of pleasure, the liquid heat that had settled in her swirling, now, flowing just under her skin, and then he was gone, looking up at her again.

"Alright?" He shifted onto one elbow so he could press against her cunt again, sliding in as she pressed forward.

"Yes." She didn't bother looking down at him, just waited for it, calf tightening against his upper arm when he set his tongue there again, licking this time, spiraling off in larger and larger circles, leaving her wanting instead of afraid. Inside his fingers weren't sliding, exactly, more pulsing, moving with the same rhythm as his tongue, and she found herself leaning into it, tightening her abs almost without thought.

He set one hand on her stomach, just underneath her navel, pressed down, hard, warmth blooming under his palm as he kept to the same pattern, until he changed, light touch against the tip of her clit, then more, a little more, every nerve waiting but not straining, and then, suddenly, relief.

It was a body slipping into a full tub, a slow steady overflow, a cascade that started in a rush, then continued, not tapering, just continuing, until there, behind and beneath it was building up again, until the individual sensations-- his fingers inside her, his tongue, hand against her stomach-- faded, coming to her in snapshots, barely grounded as she let herself float.

She snapped back to herself when she heard a high pitched sound, turned her head to try to figure out what it was, and realized it was her own voice, whimpering, shaking now as the rest of her did, slowly coming to a stop.

Tom felt it too, pulled away from her, hand resting just gently on her stomach as he sat up and pulled his fingers away. It almost tickled, but wasn't enough to explain why she was laughing, a sudden shaking laugh that had her hiding her face with her bended arm. Tom gently pushed at her elbow, and she looked up at him, the room seeming very bright.

She shielded her eyes with her hand, blocking the light from the window. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I can't stop laughing." The sight of him smiling at her set her off again and she dragged a pillow over her face as he laid down next to her.

“Don’t apologise for that.” He put his arms around her gently, testing, didn’t wrap her up tight until she pressed herself against him. She bracketed one of his thighs with her own, squeezing as she pressed closer, feeling the wet drag of herself against his skin. 

“You look like you want to ask me something,” she said, looking up at his face. His lips were swollen, bright pink, and she didn’t stop herself from reaching up to trace them, pressing in against the lush curves. He let her do it once, then snapped at her finger playfully, holding her fingertip in his teeth for a moment while she pulled.

“Of course I want to ask you something, but it’s such a cliche, I can’t bring myself to do it.”

She held onto his upper arm as she leaned away from him, keeping him close. “You were seriously wanting to ask me how it was? Was I not obvious?”

He tucked his forehead next to her shoulder, kissed her before he spoke, lips tickling against her neck. “You were pretty obvious.”

She could just see the curve of his cheek rise, a smile that he was trying not to let her see.

“Yeah, I thought so.” She reached down between them, searching for his cock. They were too close for her to get to it, so she rolled away from him reluctantly. He’d pulled the blankets back over them, and she wrapped the edge closer to herself as she rolled back, leaving his chest bare.

“Cold?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Good.” She pulled the rest of the covers off of him, sliding closer as she did.

Tom folded his hands behind his head as she ran her hand down his chest, stroking the side of his hip with the back of her hand as she settled closer to him. She kissed the soft skin over his hip bone, scraping her teeth against him, then licking the path her teeth had made as she grasped his shaft. She licked her lips, keeping her mouth soft and wet as she pressed a kiss to the head of his cock, using her lips to press back gently on his gathered skin. She swirled her tongue around him, nudging at the gather of skin on the underside of his cock, then tasting his slit as he hardened in her hand. She could feel his breath quicken, his stomach rising and falling faster as she sucked, taking another inch of him into her mouth. He tasted clean, just a hint of astringent soap lingering on his skin and she smiled to think of him taking extra care that early morning. 

She was just letting him nudge against her soft palate when she felt his hand on the back of her head, cupping her but not pushing her forward. He slid his hand around to her forehead, pushing gently until she lifted her face, letting him drag along her lower lip as she looked up at him. 

“Shannon,” he said, his voice rough and strained as he looked down over his own chest at her. “That feels really good, but I’ve been thinking about something else for what feels like a really long time now.” 

She sat back, licking her lips. “Same here. I wonder if we’re on the same page.” 

He pushed himself up on one elbow, reaching down for the covers, pulling them up until they were draped over Shannon’s shoulders. He sat up a little further until they were face to face. 

“I want you to ride me.”

“Yes,” she said, the word practically a hiss, the wind knocked out of her by how badly she wanted him. She ached with the effort of not simply climbing on top of him. “You’ll be needing a condom then.”

Tom leaned over to the bedside drawer, Shannon's hand still wrapped loosely around him.

"How did you know they'd be there?" she asked.

He grinned as he flipped a foil packet around in his fingers, and she felt the urge to trace his teeth with her tongue again. "I would have put them there, if I'd been first to get here. And I saw you carrying that bag around like it was going to explode or something." He brought his hands under the covers, pushing her away gently as he rolled it on.

"I'm that obvious?" She slid closer, pressing against the side of his hip.

"Maybe just this once." He slid one arm around her lower back, coaxed her up over him so she was straddling his stomach, her hands resting on his chest.

She got her balance, then reached back with her right hand, found the warm springy weight of his cock, texture only slightly changed by the latex, used the back of her hand to push him down flat so she could slide back over him, slipping her hand away as she settled over him, grinding her pussy along his shaft. She slipped her hand under him, pressing him up hard against her, spreading her own slick along his length.

She had her eyes closed, opened them when she felt his hand against her hip, his fingers moving lightly against her skin as if he wasn't quite sure of where to touch. He was staring up at her, breathing open mouthed and even, almost shocked.

"Alright then?" She felt herself smiling broadly, pleased to have him here, literally in the palm of her hand.

"I'm great." He grinned, and she gave into temptation, leaned down and licked along his top lip, pressed her mouth to his and flickered her tongue over the uneven surface of his teeth. He snapped gently at her, let her get away. She sat up straight again, her hand wrapped around him all the while.

She let herself lean back against him, gasped quietly at the unexpected jolt of heat when she felt him press up against her, hard and smooth. Her want was a live hot thing in her belly that seemed to fill her up, stealing her voice. She raised her eyebrows, trying to ask without asking out loud.

"Yeah," Tom said softly, hands resting against her hips. He followed her, didn't push as she sank down on him, needy ache giving way to heat that seemed to swirl around, a new craving from the old one.

She kept moving, letting gravity take her the rest of the way, slow press and slide of him opening her up beyond where his fingers had pressed, moving her hand away to grasp his hip. She breathed carefully, waiting for the catch or sting of too much, but it never came, just a firm pressure as she settled down tight, her ass against his thighs, bent forward as she held on to his hip, other hand resting on his chest.

Despite the hair tie her fringe was in her face again; when she looked up at him it was through a blurry curtain of hair. She settled back the last fraction of an inch, the deep place inside her that he'd stroked earlier coming back to life, sharp flare of pleasure amongst the pressure that was already pleasant enough by itself. She breathed out fast, breath catching in her throat. He brushed her hair behind her ear, then again, holding it there when it fell down again.

"Alright?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice yet, lifted her hand off his chest and took his hand away from her face, lacing their fingers together. He understood, bracing his arm, letting her steady herself on him.

Tightening her thighs around his hips raised her up a bit, gave her the space to lean back, sitting up straight, torso lengthening out, cool from the sweat hitting the air now. She held on tight to his hand and released his hip, reached out and took his other offered hand. She grinned at him, arms taut as she lowered herself again, the sensation of being filled up no less sweet the second time around.

She held his hands for balance, used her thighs to grasp him tight as she rose up, relaxed as she came down, stretch of muscle and tendon as she tried to settle over him, driven to tighten up and feel him. She moved slowly, letting him drag over her sweet spot, feeling her clit swell, needy but still too tender to touch or grind against him. She had to look away from his face for a moment, overwhelmed, looked out the window behind him, only the gray sky showing from that angle, bright but easy to stare at. He tightened his fingers around her hand, gently raised his hips as she pressed down against him, bringing them together faster and harder. She paused, holding them there, then slid back up, daring herself to go further, smiling at his quick panting breath, almost panicked, as she held just the head of his cock inside her.

She moaned as she came back down, feeling him open her up all over again, opened her eyes just as he settled inside her, the rush to her head and the bright light making spots appear in front of her eyes. She blinked, tried to get her balance, but wound up pulling her right hand away, slapping it down on the middle of his chest as she tried to steady herself.

"Shannon?" Tom held perfectly still, rubbing his hand up the back of her arm.

"Sorry, I just had this weird vertigo for a moment." She leaned against his chest, let him pull her close, arms wrapped around her back.

"I'll keep you down here then, shall I?" He slid one arm down to press against her lower back, hand easily wrapping around her hip.

"Yeah."

She held on and let him move, rocking up into her in slow undulations. She lost track of time, the heat he stirred in her ebbing and flowing so easily that there was nothing to chase, a build so slow she could float on it without worry. Her head was tucked against his neck, her breath making his skin damp-- every few breaths she would kiss against his soft skin, comparatively drier lips taking away some of the moisture. He turned his head towards her, tilted his shoulder up to cradle her as he kissed her, but let her lower her head again, loose, boneless, draped over him. She let her hips open up, knees splayed to either side of him, even wider when he put his hands on her ass, grasping, pushing down so she was finally ground into him, sweet sharp jolt of sensation making her groan right against his ear. She felt the satisfied rumble in his chest, lifted her head to feel the cool air on her face, eyes still closed as she tried to catch her breath. All she could see when she opened her eyes was the top of the bed, the gray light outside the window panes. Even so, opening her eyes seemed to bring her own body that she couldn't see into focus. Through the pleasant haze of heat, the prickle of sweat slick skin and the deep throb when he pushed deep into her, she realized that she was sprawled over him in a way that she never would have imagined herself doing with a new lover. She closed her eyes and traced her hand down his arm, smiling to herself as she tightened her knees up again, her right leg hitting his hip first.

She pressed her knee hard against him and pushed herself up. He stroked along the side of her breast as he looked at her, holding still otherwise.

"Roll us over?" she nudged him with her knee again and he wrapped his arms around her back, held tight as he rolled towards the middle of the bed, her legs wrapping around his waist, keeping him held tight as she clung to him.

He laughed softly as he settled in, her legs still wrapped around him, her heels crossed. "You're like a monkey."

"Yeah, a sex monkey." She started giggling as soon as she'd said it, helpless to stop, eyes closed, afraid to look in case he was horrified.

He rested his forehead on the bed next to her head, turned and spoke into her ear. "Do you have any idea what happens when you laugh?" He snapped his hips forward, shocking it out of her. "It's great, but I think you might prefer this, for now?" He did it again, and she pushed back against him, twisting her hips to grind herself against him, a trembling sense of immediacy building between them.

"Yeah." The pillows behind her head were pushing down on her. She laid flat as she let go of his back, reached her hands over her head to push them away. In an instant he was heavy against her, hands tracing the long sweep of her arms, grasping her wrists. She gasped as she looked at him, his face almost too close to focus on. His mouth moved, but she spoke before he could. "Yes. Do that."

His eyes widened. "Seriously?"

She nodded, stretching, the backs of her hands pushing down into the mattress as she straightened her elbows. His hands tightened, pushing down even harder as he lifted his chest up, adjusting his angle as he lengthened his stroke, sliding in and out of her fast and steady, surrounding her. She let her legs fall down, but he adjusted his grip on her, holding her wrists in one hand, crossed over each other, using his other hand to gently tap against the side of her thigh.

"Come on. Up."

It was harder to lift her legs up, as she was tired, almost shaky. She locked her heels above his waist, leaving herself twisted, so open that every thrust had him pressing against her clit, every time almost there and not enough in the space of a single second, his deep rapid breath making her fear that there wasn't long now.

She twisted her wrists around in his grip, pushing against his hand, but he had gravity and leverage on his side.

"Tom."

"Mmm?" His eyes were heavy lidded but bright when he looked down at her.

"I need one of my hands."

"Just one?" He loosened his grip but kept his body tight enough against hers that she couldn't have reached between them if she wanted.

"Yeah."

"Does it matter which one?" He kept himself pressed in tight, rocking against her gently.

"Not really." She grinned at his surprise.

"Interesting." He moved his hips in a slow circle. "Are you telling me to let go?" He ran his free hand across her hip, across the bottom of her stomach, slipped it down to run his fingers over her mound, slipping fingertips first into her cleft, resting his fingers against the top of her clit, the same angle as if she'd been touching herself.

She pressed up against him, the increase in the stretch in her arms its own kind of pleasure. "No, I'm not telling you to let go."

He smiled, one-sided and languorous even as the rest of his body was moving quickly. "Good. Because I got this."

She closed her eyes, overwhelmed, too many sensations and yet just enough, Tom's weight fully against her now that he could only push himself up on her wrists, pressure there vacillating between too much and just enough. She could hear her own breath, shuddering and loud, cutting through even his, deep and almost growling.

It was a sound he made that pushed her over the edge, a quick high sound, desperate, then relieved. The blood in her ears was loud enough then that she heard nothing else, though after she wondered if she'd been loud, if the soreness in her throat was from her voice or the way she craned her head back when it rushed over her, covered in sensation from the crown of her head to her toes, from her hands back down to her breasts, everything bright and alive one moment, then settled down into the most complete contentment in the next breath.

She opened her eyes slowly, squinting at the light. Tom had slid his hand out from between them, was pushing himself up on the mattress, her chest expanding fully now that he wasn't leaning on her anymore. He'd pulled the blanket over them so the air that hit her skin wasn't cold though she felt it as keenly as if it were water. She blinked up at him, realized she could move her arms, touched his face clumsily.

He turned and kissed her fingers, nipping at them as she pulled her hand away.

"You alright?" she asked, not really worried, but she didn't remember being aware of him coming.

"I'm great." He slipped his hand between them, but didn't touch her, and she realized that he was holding onto the condom as he got ready to pull away from her. "I should," he nodded to where they were joined.

"Yeah." She tried to relax, realizing that even though he was softening she was still clenched around him. She hissed a little as he slipped out, the sting a surprise since it hadn't hurt at all until then. She smiled and shook her head a little as he shot her a worried look, his hands moving under the blanket, tying it off.

He dropped the condom off the side of the bed on to the floor. "Do not get out of this bed before me," he warned her.

"Wouldn't dream of it." She waited until he was settled on his back before curling up next to him, on her side, her thighs together, holding in the pulsing echo of where he'd been.

He put one arm around her shoulders, holding her close, picking up her near hand with the other. He rubbed his thumb along the inside of her wrist, though there was no mark there, no soreness.

"Is that something you usually like?"

She shrugged. "No. I just, in that moment, wanted you to stay there." She looked up at him, his hand still bracketed around her wrist. "Did it bother you?"

He shook his head. "Not at all." He kissed the inside of her wrist and then slipped his hand round, holding her hand gently.

The bed was warm while the draft from the window was cool. With her eyes closed there was the faintest hint of light from the top of the window. Tom's arm was a welcome weight over her side, and she snuggled in, perfectly content.

"Don't fall asleep." He kissed the shell of her ear gently, then gently tapped the back of her head with his forehead.

"Why not." She grasped at his hand where he was still rubbing the inside of her wrist.

"Because you wanted to go to the Met and if you fall asleep you'll be grumpy when you wake up and it's closed."

She thought of glaring at him, but that would have required turning her head and even opening her eyes. "Says who?"

"Says you. You told me you get grumpy when you sleep through things."

She opened her eyes, but didn't look up, just kept looking at their hands held together, her hand looking pale against his tan skin. "That's true." She didn't say what occurred to her-- that she didn't want to sleep for the simple reason that it would shorten the time she had with him. "Do you want to go to the Met?"

He jostled her hand a little in his. "I want to go to the Met with you."

"It's Saturday, and rainy," she said. "It’ll be busy."

He shook her gently again. "Don't talk yourself out of something you want."

"Alright. Yes." She stretched, arching her back until her head touched his chest, feet pressing against his shins. "I may need lunch first."

"Me too."

She pushed herself up on one elbow, looking out into the small space of the bedroom. Her jeans were folded neatly over her case, but the rest of her things were either in the case or scattered around the bed, and the thought of getting out from under the covers and walking around, crouching and bending, felt too exposed, even given everything they'd already done.

"I'm wondering if I can do that thing that women do in films, where they take the sheet off the bed as they walk away."

He unwound his arms from her waist. "I don't think that ever works." He unfolded the covers off of himself and onto her, keeping her covered as he climbed out of the bed over her. She couldn't take her eyes off his legs, surprisingly long for all that he wasn't terribly tall, as he walked over to his suitcase, bent over and started going through it. She glanced away, trying not to stare, but had to look back at him. He was crouched as he went through the clothes in his case. The light was brightest on his bent knee, the shadows and lines there a study in how muscle attached to bone, the shifting of them under his skin the very picture of how joints worked. When he stood next to the bed he held his clothes over his arm, not bothering to cover himself. His cock was soft, flushed and curved, looking somehow friendly in the thatch of disheveled hair.

"Shannon. Up here."

She looked up, guiltily, but he was smiling. "I'm going to go get dressed so you don't have to try the bed sheet trick." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Not that seeing you try wouldn't have been fun."

"Ha ha." She shamelessly watched him walk away, practically itching to reach out and feel the defined curves of his muscles. The thought that she could, later, made her grin.


	3. Chapter 3

The bed was comfortable, but the day stretched ahead of them, and she forced herself to sit up, reaching for her case and pulling it towards herself. Socks were first, as the floor was cold. She pulled her jeans on and threw on a loose jumper, gathering up the rest of her clothes and her toiletries bag in her hands. She could hear Tom moving around in the kitchen, so she hurried to the washroom, barely glancing his way as she went by.

In the washroom she looked at the shower, considering. She didn't feel _dirty_ , really, and the thought of going outside with wet hair didn't suit her. She washed up at the sink and straightened her hair out with the brush, relieved to see that it wasn't a disheveled rat's nest after all. When she was done she returned her smaller bag to her case in the bed nook, then slid on her stocking feet to the kitchen. Tom was standing over a cutting board, looking mysteriously guilty.

"What's up?" she asked, trying to figure out why a pile of what looked like sliced chicken could make him look furtive.

"I didn't ask you about this earlier, but I'm still under the supervision of the film's trainer. I don't think I can do too much damage in two days, but I'm supposed to stick to the plan. I didn't ask earlier. Are you going to be terribly disappointed if we eat here most of the time?"

"No, that's fine. I came here to see you." She opened the fridge, looking for veggies, and found it well stocked with colorful peppers as well as two heads of broccoli and some yoghurt. "Where did this food come from?"

"Olive offered to stock the kitchen for us and I sent her a list." He looked over his shoulder to where she was washing the vegetables. Another cutting board was leaning against the wall by the sink and she set the clean vegetables on it, started looking for another sharp knife. "She just laughed when I asked her to get tea though."

"Really?" Shannon found a knife in one of the drawers, and quickly cut the broccoli into manageable pieces. "That's too bad but I can live for one day."

"I didn’t say there wasn’t any tea, just that she didn’t have to get it for us specially." He stood next to her while she sliced a pepper, turning it into thin even strips. "Check the cabinet to your left." She set the knife down, flicking at his hand as he reached for the veggies.

"Stop it."

He withdrew his hand, looking sheepish. "I'm really hungry though."

She shook her head as she opened the cabinet he'd been indicating, couldn't help the tiny sound of delight that she made when she saw what was inside. The first and second shelves were filled with uniform glass jars, short but broad enough to each hold a hand-printed label, each with a few scoops of loose leaves in them.

"Lovely," she said, reaching for one at random. The leaves inside were long silver rolls, like fuzzy parchment, and when she took the lid off to sniff the scent was light, almost astringent, hinting at something earthier than citrus. She put the lid back on and looked at the other jars, some of them with just leaves, others with a mix of leaves and dried fruit skins. She turned to Tom with the jar in her hands. "Wait. Are these always here?"

"No. These are from Olive's collection. She put them up here for you."

"Alright then." She set the jar down on the worktop. "That one will go well with chicken. I was just thinking, if they were here all the time, there would be nothing to stop the previous guest from messing with them."

Tom stepped back as she took the knife in her hand again, maintaining a more than adequate distance. "Would you expect them to?" He went back to his own cutting board and finished cutting up the chicken.

"I don't know as I'd expect it, exactly." She cored the seeds out of the second pepper and tapped it on the edge of the counter to remove the last of them. "It's just something I'd be worried about." She sliced it into strips, aware that Tom was once again watching over her shoulder.

"Can't say it would occur to me." He turned a burner on and Shannon watched as he slid the sliced chicken into a skillet and set it over the flame.

"What are you doing?" She set her knife carefully in the sink.

"Cooking the chicken." He raised his eyebrows at her, as if it had been a stupid question.

"No, I can see that, you just didn't put anything in the pan other than the chicken."

He had a silicone spatula in his hand and started stirring the chicken, doubtlessly to keep it from sticking to the bottom of the pan. "Should I have? I thought the chicken needed to cook most of the way before the vegetables went in."

"Well done there, but don't you put in some sauce or oil or something?" She turned the burner off, rescuing the chicken from where it was being slowly singed to the bottom of the pan. "Is this how you always cook your food?"

He shrugged. "To be honest, on this shoot people have usually either made it for me or delivered it to me in a little box."

She poked at the chicken, loosening it from the bottom of the pan. "There must be times like this when you have to cook it yourself, though."

"If I'm supposed to be eating plain chicken I usually just boil it."

She couldn't help the look of horror that crossed her features. "You just straight up boil it. Not like, in a soup or anything."

"Yeah, I just boil it. What's wrong with that? Aren't you British?"

"Technically. Not enough not to be offended by the idea of boiling the life out of a perfectly good chicken."

"To be fair, it's quite dead by the time it gets to me, it's not a lobster or anything."

She stuck her tongue out at him as she opened the cupboard next to the stove, relieved to find a good amount of staples therein. She pulled out a bottle of peanut oil. "Are you allowed to eat this? Please tell me that a teaspoon of peanut oil is not going to undo you." She considered the fact that he was cooking rather than going out in order to stick to a particular plan. "We can use water, though I draw the line at actually boiling it."

"It'll be fine." He stepped back and let her add a cap full of oil to the pan before she resumed cooking the chicken. "I forgot you were a chef in a former life."

She shook her head as she stirred. "I have a one year certificate course that amounted to How Not to Kill People With Food. The rest I picked up working in catering." She looked up at the cupboard, trying to read the labels on the random jars of spices left there by previous tenants. "Tell me what's in those jars, would you?"

Tom took them down and read them. "Ginger, garlic, chili powder, pumpkin pie spice, cinnamon, and tumeric." He waggled the jar of chili powder at her. "I bet you're just dying to use this, aren't you."

"Garlic and ginger are usually what's in Chinese food, sometimes chili peppers too, to be honest." She eyed the jars warily. "The longer chili powder sits in the jar the stronger it gets, though."

"Not to mention someone might have laced that or the pumpkin pie spice with LSD," he said, setting some of the jars back on the shelf.

"Very funny. Hand me the ginger and garlic ones, please."

He handed them to her one by one. "Are you sure we're not going to be poisoned, maybe held in ransom by some crazed former tenant with the antidote?"

"That doesn't even make sense!" She sprinkled a cautious amount of each over the chicken and kept stirring until it was well mixed, then stepped back away from the sizzling pan.

"Neither does thinking that some stranger is going to interfere with your tea!"

The look on his face, all wide-eyed incredulity, had her laughing so hard she was bent over, clutching the spatula in her hands. "It does make sense! It does!" She wiped her eyes carefully as she stood up. "Listen, I went to primary school in the United States, so I don't know if they had this sort of thing in England, but we got this memo sent home when I was in the third grade. When I was eight or nine," she amended, remembering that the difference in the numbering of the years had thrown her when she first had needed to make comparisons. "This was sent from the actual school, you understand, and it said that drug dealers were adding crystal meth to pop rocks, this kind of boiled sweet, and they were putting LSD in lick and stick temporary tattoos."

"What?" He was grinning at her. "The school sent this home with you?"

"Yeah, and we were told, like, do not take candy from strangers, don't take lick and stick tattoos from strangers, not because you just shouldn't take shit from strangers but because they might have drugs in them."

Tom laughed out loud. "So, the idea is that there are these drug dealers going around giving away their product to kids? Kids who won't know they've been drugged in the first place, wouldn't know how to find them again if they wanted, and generally don't have any money to begin with?"

"Oh my god, that is exactly what my dad said when he read it! But exactly! He laughed it off and said that actual drug dealers wouldn't part with something if they weren't getting paid for it but my mom took it dead seriously. So then I started thinking, well, if there are just these, I don't know, agents of chaos running around, putting drugs in things, what about other stuff? What about the door handles at school, and the post office, what about stamps, what about the loo roll in public washrooms?"

"This is tragic."

"So now my mom has this nine year old on her hands who doesn't want to ever use a public restroom because what if there is LSD in the toilet paper. She actually started carrying this tiny package of tissues in her purse for me because I was so freaked out."

"So now that you're a grown woman and you know this is all utter nonsense," he prompted as she picked up the cutting board with the vegetables on it.

"I know it's nonsense, vis a vis drugs, but really, people can just be assholes. I may have filled a sugar shaker with salt in my time. Karma's a bitch."

He stood close and watched as she stirred the vegetables into the sauce, then tapped the spatula on the side of the pan and stood back, letting them sizzle a bit.

"You hooligan," he said. "I thought I had you all figured out but then you go and have these hidden depths."

She glanced at him, but he was hard to see, standing so close. "You didn't really think so, did you?"

He shook his head, and it seemed serious, all of a sudden. "No, not really."

She seized the spatula, desperate to have something to do with her hands. The meat was done, the vegetables crisp but cooked through, some of them with a bit of dark glaze on one side. She turned the heat off. "Did you want to serve this over rice or something?"

"Oh. No, but I think there might be something," he opened the fridge and looked inside, pulled out a package of tortillas. "Did you want one of these?"

"Yeah, that's perfect, thanks." She took the package and worked the top one free, tearing it just a little, and set it over the top of the pan to steam in the heat rising off the food. "Will you not be hungry?" She handed the package back to him, then wondered if he would normally have just eaten all the chicken by himself.

"No, I've also got this shake I have to drink." He kept looking away from her, his voice going up at the end the sentence like he wasn't sure of himself.

"Ok? Is it made of endangered baby sea turtles or something?"

"No. Why?"

"You're acting like it's really dodgy." She pulled down a plate and draped her tortilla on it, took down another plate for him and set it on the cool area of the stove.

"No, it's just that I've never spent any time with someone when I was training like this. I mean, some people find it off-putting."

She looked away under the pretense of looking for a better utensil to serve the food with, sifting through the drawer near the stove until she found the tongs, so he wouldn't see the question written on her face. _Is "some people" Ben?_

"I don't think I could find it off-putting unless you told me I had to drink it too, or if you were eating something truly disgusting."

"Like what?" He accepted the tongs when she nearly jabbed them at him, taking about half the chicken and veggies on to his plate.

"Don't ask, just, don't get me started. I'll start thinking about it and I won't be able to stop. It's like the imp of the perverse." She took the tongs and served herself, not really wanting all of what was left over, so she took what she wanted and pushed them back towards Tom.

"But you already had something in mind." He raised his eyebrows at her, a clear _you really don't mind if I finish this_ and when she shook her head he lifted up the pan, scraping it out.

She set her plate down on the table with a sudden thunk. "I can't stop it! Thoughts are happening!" She held on to her forehead as if that would stop it.

"What? I really don't know."

"Seriously, just now I can't stop thinking about balut, that egg with the duckling boiled inside, and marzu, this cheese that, ugh, just don't ask, and monkey brains, and Hakari, seriously, I mean, Gordon Ramsay actually--" she was cut short by Tom grasping her shirt in both hands and pulling her forward, suddenly, until she was leaning against her chest, chin tilted up as he pressed his face into the side of her neck, lips firm against her pulse before he opened his mouth, warm and wet, just the barest hint of teeth scraping against her skin as he slowly stood her up. He smelled warm but fresh, banishing all thoughts of anything rancid or awful from her mind. He kept holding her, his mouth near her ear now.

"Am I going to bring any of that here?"

She shook her head. He kissed the soft skin behind her ear, making her shiver.

"What were you thinking about?"

She shook her head, and it was almost the truth when she answered. "I don't remember."

He kissed her cheek, almost chaste. "Good." He pulled out a chair for her and she sat down in front of her plate while he gathered napkins and water for both of them.

They ate quietly for a few minutes.

"This is better with the spices," Tom said. "I get into a real eat to live frame of mind when I'm doing one of these films but this is nice."

"Good. It's not sophisticated or anything, but ginger and garlic are spices that go well with a lot of things, and if you use too much the food isn't ruined, which is nice."

He finished before her, got up and put his plate in the sink and pulled a jar out of the cabinet by the stove, quickly mixed together the powder and a bottle of water in a plastic cup. He screwed on a lid and shook it, tapping it on the edge of the counter twice before shaking it again.

"Did you want some?" he asked when he noticed her looking.

She shook her head, swallowing. "No. How is it?"

He unscrewed the lid and shrugged. "It's ok. It's supposedly vanilla but it's nothing I'd recommend drinking for fun."

She laughed and wiped her mouth. "Then why did you offer it to me?"

"It only seemed polite."

"True. Thanks." She pushed her empty plate away from herself so she could rest her arms on the table as she drank her water. "Sorry if I'm staring at you." It was almost mesmerizing, the way the drink clung to the sides of the plastic cup. It was opaque but she could see the shadow of it through the thin material.

"As long as I'm not annoying you."

"Yeah, why would this be annoying?" She leaned on the table while she waited for the answer.

"Some people, if they're around me while I'm doing this thing, with the prescriptive nature of what I'm eating and the restrictions on things I don't eat, they get annoyed because they think there's some sort of implication that I expect them to be doing the same thing that I'm doing, which is ridiculous because as soon as this job is over I go right back to my usual habits."

"When you say some people, do you mean Ben?" The question was out of her mouth before she could censor herself. She drank hastily, trying to cover the fact that she was dismayed at herself.

"At first, but he's over that by now. He's seen me cycle back and forth enough times that he knows I'm not about to hold anyone else to any particular standards."

"As long as you're not after telling me what to do, we'll be fine."

"No worries there."

"I actually just find it kind of interesting. I mean, dancers do it, to a certain extent, and other performers too."

"Do what?" He stared at the bottom of the cup for a moment, then tilted it up, leaning his head back so the last of it would fall into his mouth.

She stared at the curve of his throat while he drank. "They change their bodies on purpose to get a certain effect. You're part of this bigger project, and the character's body looks a certain way and that means certain things, so you're changing for that reason. It's..." she faltered as he set the cup down and looked at her.

"Yes?"

She pulled her hair back, just to give her hands something to do. "I'm rambling, sorry, it was just a thought I had but it sounds so fruity."

He showed his teeth when he smiled, sudden and sincere but with an edge as well. "I have sex with men. I think I can handle hearing about something a little fruity."

"I didn't mean it in that sense!"

"I know, I know. Go on."

She threw her hands in the air and sat back, leaning away from the table. "Look, I'm just saying, I don't find it annoying, but maybe a little fascinating that you change so quickly, and so completely, because changing your appearance, deliberately, with effort, for the purpose of a specific film, is art." She let the legs of the chair land on the floor, ready to be told off for being silly.

He only nodded as he got up, gathering up their empty water bottles, his cup, and her plate. "I've thought of it that way myself before."

"Oh. Ok."

"Does this mean I'm like one of those people who dip themselves in paint and roll all over a canvas?" He rinsed their plates off and stacked them in the drying rack.

She groaned out loud. "No, not like that at all, really."

He rested his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. "I thought you artist types were supposed to be all shiny happy people all the time about each other."

"Well, I usually am. You can't tell anyone that the thought of someone rolling about on a canvas while covered in paint made me groan."

He squeezed her shoulders hard as he leaned closer. "Tell me something else, then, something else you shouldn't admit."

She sighed and gave in, looking back at him. "Damien Hirst can seriously kiss my ass."

He laughed, and let go of her shoulders. "Diamond skull guy?"

"Diamond skull guy," she confirmed. "I'd like to think that I'd tell him what I thought of him to his face, but it's not likely that I could actually be that rude."

"I can't see you tearing someone down, really," Tom said.

"Hidden depths, remember?" She stood up when he stepped back to give her space and the tea cabinet caught her eye. "I forgot to make tea."

"We'll have it when we get back, yeah?" He was pulling on his coat and hat, ready to go.

"Good idea." She glanced at the clock. It was nearly one. The thought that the museum was just around the corner was ridiculously exciting.

Outside it was still gray and cool but no longer raining. Shannon turned her face to the sky, as if the flat gray cloud cover there would tell her anything.

"Do you think we should bring umbrellas?" she asked.

"Be more trouble than they're worth to carry, I think," Tom said. "We're not going far, anyway."

"Too true." She couldn't see the museum, but the way the sky opened up at the end of the street meant they were close to the park and the museum was just on the edge.

Tom took her hand as they walked, separating only when the front stoops of the row houses made the sidewalk too narrow to walk side by side.

"There are a lot of doctors in this neighborhood," Tom said, looking at one of the brass plaques next to a door.

"It's kind of Harley Street, I think, just maybe with more plastic surgeons." 

"So, did you ever live here, in New York?" Tom asked.

She shook her head. "I visited when I was in university, of course. There's a train from Boston to New York." She paused. "You know, I forget that that's not really noteworthy when I'm talking to anyone from anywhere but the US."

"It's alright, go on." He took her hand again as the sidewalk opened up.

"I would stay with friends of friends, or in a hostel. The few times I've been in a show here I've stayed in midtown, in Turtle Bay. I finally feel a little long in the tooth for a hostel."

"I wouldn't say that," Tom said. "Maybe you've become too discerning."

"I just know I don't have the patience for sharing my space with strangers any more. Anyway, I've come here to go to the museums and galleries at least every couple of years since I've been in university. I've never had a plan to come back, but it always seems to work out. Once when I was a kid, about ten, my mom took us to the Christmas show at Radio City." 

"How was that?"

"It was very shiny," she said. "I don't remember much other than that, and being annoyed with my sister for a lot of the time. That was par for the course, back then. Sometimes now as well, to be honest. We had a room in a hotel near Radio City and my sister and I had a sort of bedroom off the main room to ourselves, and she kept trying to jump on the bed and I was trying to stop her because I knew it would make my mother cross, but when I tried to pull her down to sit on the bed her nose hit my arm and she got a bloody nose. We had these velvet dresses with white collars and she bled all over it. We had other dresses but they didn't match or anything." She sighed, feeling terribly sad at the memory for a moment. "At the time I thought my mother was stark raving mad to be so pissed off but it must have been really disappointing, to have planned this big outing with our Christmas dresses and then have one of us be pretty much covered in blood."

Tom let go of her hand only to pull her close, arm wrapped around her waist as he kept in step with her.

"It's the same sort of thing that every kid does at least once. I didn't even have siblings and even I managed that sort of thing with my cousins." He kissed the side of her forehead and she smiled, pleased that he cared enough to try to soothe her even as she felt foolish that she'd been so bothered at all.

"So, there you have it. I've never lived here, but I feel like this sight, at least, is familiar." They paused at the crosswalk before the steps of the museum, crossing with the light and joining the crowd on the stairs.

"Don't worry," she said to him as they walked up. "Not all of these people are waiting to go inside. It's a big deal to have your picture taken on the steps."

Inside was the usual confusion of people trying to exit through the entrance and the jumble of the narrow foyer, but soon they were standing in the lobby under the massive vaulted ceiling. Tom tilted his head back and looked up at the ceiling, holding her hand tightly as he did. She looked away as she smiled, happy to see that he was impressed by the space. He looked back at her.

"How do we get in?" 

The lobby was full of people with the same question, apparently, wandering around until they found the counters off to one side.

"It's always under some kind of renovation. I have to look pretty much every time." 

They joined the line, hesitating behind a young man and woman who waved them on. As she walked by Shannon caught the gist of what they were saying, hesitating about going in because of the cost. She held Tom’s hand tightly for a moment, dragging her feet as she eavesdropped.

“I know, I really want to go in, but if we go here we can’t really go to MoMA too,” the woman was saying, while her companion seemed more willing to throw caution to the wind.

“Sorry,” Shannon said, getting the woman’s attention. “You know you don’t have to actually give them twenty-five dollars here? You can pay them whatever you want. It’s a suggested donation.”

“I heard that but then the sign just says admission,” she said, looking up at the board over the kiosk.

“Trust me. It’s written down somewhere, it’s just miniscule. You just hand them whatever you want, tell them you need two pins, and don’t apologize. It’s easy if you’ve got cash. Some of the docents will give you a look but most of them don’t care, and you’ll never see them again, so.” She shrugged, afraid that she’d said too much and embarrassed Tom.

“Is MoMA like that too?” she asked.

“No, it’s definitely not, so it’s worth saving here.” As she spoke Tom squeezed her hand and she realized her hand had been getting tighter and tighter. She loosened her fingers.

“Alright, we’re going to do that. Thanks!”

“Sure.” Shannon smiled as they parted, glad to be able to turn away, and happier still that the other couple had chosen a different line than them in the bank of kiosks. 

“You don’t love talking to strangers, do you?” Tom asked once they were well out of earshot.

“Who does?” She let go of his hand to open her bag, opening her wallet for a couple of tens. 

“That was really kind of you. I didn’t know that, myself.”

“Really? I guess they don’t go out of their way to publicize it. In London I get used to the best museums being free, myself.” She rubbed the bills together, making sure they didn’t stick. “Unless you object, I was going to get our pins.”

“That’s fine.” Tom stayed quiet as she handed over the money and got their pins. She detected only the faintest sigh of resignation from the docent, but it wasn’t like she was handing over a dollar in quarters, as she had done before.

They walked out of the crush of people on the other side of the admittance ropes. 

“If you give me your jacket I can check it with mine,” she said. He took his jacket off and laid it over her outstretched arm, and she joined the swiftly moving queue at the coat check. When she returned to him he had accidentally flattened the back of his pin, struggling to get one of his short fingernails under the edge of it. She took it from him and straightened it out, reaching up to clip it on for him. 

“You always seem really at ease when you’re talking to people,” he said as she affixed the pin to the collar of his t-shirt, the back of her fingers lingering against his skin perhaps a moment longer than necessary.

“My secret talent,” she said. “Tell no one.”

“Seriously. You should have been an actor.”

“Ha ha.” She let her hand fall, wondering if she should try to take his hand, when he grasped it himself. “Where to first?” she asked.

“Your choice,” he said. “I don’t have a preference.”

“Really?” She gently led him around the back of the lobby, to the entrance of the Egyptian exhibits. “You must have some artists you like more than others.”

“I’d embarrass myself. I’d be naming all these people you can buy calendars of at Paperchase.”

“I like plenty of those calendars,” she said. “Just go on, try me.”

“Warhol, Rousseau, Rothko.” He paused. “Picasso. I’m sure there are others. Those are just the ones that come to mind.”

“A good selection, actually. I remember at least one Rousseau near the Van Gogh area, and I know Picasso is well represented here but if you really want to see the others we’d have to go to MoMA.”

“Nah, fuck those guys,” Tom said, making her laugh suddenly. “I’ll wait until they’re on loan to the Tate and go see them then.”

“It’s not that I don’t think art has value, obviously, but when it’s in a museum, it seems restrictive to charge two people fifty dollars to go see it. The museum gets most of its money from patrons and members anyway, not the admission.” She glanced at him. “I mean, I know it looks hypocritical of me to take issue with admission when I want people to actually buy my art.” She groaned inwardly, remembering that Tom was, in fact, one of those people, and if he could afford to buy art he was most likely able to pay the suggested donation at a museum without blinking.

“Wanting to make a living out of making something you want people to buy and wanting collections in museums to be accessible isn’t mutually exclusive,” he said. “I think you’re fine.”

She led him to one of the many parallel corridors along the approach to the Egyptian exhibit’s main area.

“I always have conflicting feelings about the Egyptian exhibits in museums,” she said. “Some of these things are literally from robbed graves. At least things recovered in archaeological explorations of settled homes, I know the people aren’t using any longer.”

“I thought you said the Egyptian exhibit was your favorite, though.”

“For a few specific reasons.” She found the case she was looking for. “These tiles are one of the few objects in any museum that I actually covet.” She leaned towards them, the same sense of enjoyment as ever washing over her. Each tile was perfectly square, just under a foot to a side, and featured an animal in relief. After a few seconds of taking them in she glanced at Tom, hoping she wouldn’t see him blatantly bored by what was, after all, a mere footnote to the collection.

“They look really modern,” he said, peering at them. “I can imagine these as an accent tile or something.”

“I know. I keep hoping they make replicas of them. I’m glad they’re here for everyone to see, but I just _want_ one. Especially that one.” She pointed. “The bird is my favorite.”

“I’m kind of partial to the ram, though I think the bird might appeal more to the usual decorator of kitchens.” He stood up, stretching from where he’d been bent forward towards the case. “What were they anyway?”

“When I first started coming here, they were labeled as artist’s models, and now they’re labeled as votive offerings.” She shrugged, her hands in her pockets as she stepped back. “So really it’s safe to say that no one knows. It was a little easier on my mind when they were labeled as models, but I’d be just as happy with replicas.”

“In a museum?” As they stepped into the more open space of the main corridor he put his arm around her waist and she tilted her head, hoping to hide the sudden smile at his unexpected need to keep touching her.

“Sure, if the purpose of those things being here is education, we’re not learning more than if they were skillfully done fakes. People go on school trips to the Tower of London and they don’t learn more on the days that the crown jewels are the real ones, do they?”

“I can say with some certainty that I never learned anything on a school trip,” Tom said.

“Ofstead would be shocked to hear that, I’m sure.” She slipped her arm around his back, wondering what they looked like to the other museum patrons. “This is my favorite room in the museum.” She gently guided him to stand to one side of the broad door into the open wing. “The glass in the ceiling and the windows is stippled, to make it look more like the light on the banks of the Nile. The wall back there is sloped. It’s supposed to make you think of the cliffs that were near the temple, and the river is pretty obvious.” As usual there were people walking far too close to the edge of the flowing water feature, but in all the times she’d been there she’d never seen anyone fall in.

“And the temple?” Tom tightened his arm, jostling her slightly. “Is that a replica?”

“No, but I can enjoy it because it was a gift to the United States. Otherwise it was going to be washed away after Egypt built the Aswan dam.” 

Tom tilted his head back, taking in the whole room. Although partially ruined, the temple was still a massive object. 

“Is this the sort of gift that the United States was like, oh thank you so much,” he let go of her so he could hold both his hands out in front of himself, as if holding something. “Now, where do we put this.”

“No, actually the museums and cities fought over who was going to get it, even though it needed a purpose built room.”

“Huh.” He put his arm back around her waist, and she let him lead them both around the edge of the room. He turned his back to the temple and looked out the textured glass at the gray landscape of Central Park, the gloom of the rain striped scene only making the warm dry comfort of the museum more appealing.

She let herself look at the other patrons when he turned them around, looking up at the temple. There were students with their sketchbooks under their arms, most of them probably having no business in the temple wing at all, but bored or overwhelmed, or otherwise killing time had wandered in. The youngest children were drawn, as always, to the edge of the water feature, trying to touch the stone crocodile, their parents coaxing them away from temptation. The rest of the patrons appeared to be couples, or at least people traveling in packs of two, though few were holding hands or touching as they were. She felt conspicuous for a moment, then let herself relax against his arm. There was nothing ostentatious about his touch, and anchored by him as they walked, she felt free to get lost in her own thoughts.

She thought of Ben, fleetingly, then pushed the thought aside, mainly wondering if they ever went out, together, and if it bothered Tom that he couldn’t have his arm around Ben so easily. She turned the question over in her mind, decided not to voice it as there was no possible good that could come of it. That sort of pause was new for her, and she felt the burn of not knowing even as she knew it was best not to ask.

As Tom circled the edge of the temple she found herself counting back the previous times she’d been, times she’d come through the Sackler Wing on her way to another part of the museum, or come to sit for a few minutes or the first time, when she’d stayed for an hour, letting herself take in the open space. It had been ten years, she realized, an entire decade. She tried to feel the time as if it were a thing with weight, like cloth coming off a bolt, and found that she couldn’t, quite, some of the furthest moments seeming near and some of the nearer ones faded with insignificance or perhaps a sense of familiarity. She tried to quantify the times she’d come with a partner, realized that for one reason or another, she’d never come with either David or Marc, mainly because they’d been far away, in their own homes. The times that she remembered coming lacked enough texture for her to know if she’d been coupled with one or the other, mostly, though she remembered one trip to New York quite near when she’d broken up with David. That time was tinged with a sense of relief, and excitement at having a life not fettered to him. Still, the feeling of not being able to hold on to the weight of that time nagged at her. She had felt fully an adult when she had first stayed in New York by herself, and didn’t revise that, even at a distance. She looked at the carved lotuses on the side of the temple, her eye following the familiar curve of their stalks. The conclusion was, then, she thought, that she was one decade into her adulthood and not only had she spent most of it demonstrably alone she was now with a man who had another partner, one who had been there before her.

She gently extricated herself from Tom’s warm grasp, rubbing her hand down his arm as she stepped back.

“Sorry, I was just getting really warm.” They were at the entrance to the temple   
anyway, a doorway just wide enough for the two of them to walk in together. Inside the first part of the structure it was dim and cool. She sat down on one of the low benches.

“You can touch it?” Tom asked.

She looked up, not sure what he meant. “The temple? Yeah, you can actually touch it as much as you want. Sit on it, whatever. There’s graffiti all over it though the Met does stop at actually letting you add to it.”

“Graffiti?”

“Step back out the door and look left, some admiral in the 19th century carved his whole name and the year, in a serifed font no less.” Tom stepped out and looked where she had told him, then came back in, sitting across from her on the other bench.

“That definitely doesn’t look like any graffiti I ever left,” he said.

“Sure, kids have no sense of font these days,” she said.

“You got lost in thought for a bit there,” Tom said. “I thought you might have left the building altogether.”

“Just thinking about other times I’ve been here. I just realized this is the first time I’ve been here with another person.”

“Really? Any other person?”

“Yeah, it’s weird. Once Edward was supposed to meet me here but things didn’t work out. It just struck me as funny, suddenly.”

“Well, I’m very pleased to be here,” he said. He stood as a small group of people approached the front entrance of the temple. “Where do you recommend next?”

“Well,” she said as they descended the stairs out the back, into the deeper shade of the sloped part of the room. “I think we should go find that Rousseau.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he said.

“Everyone goes to see The Dream at MoMA. This will be much cooler.”

“I don’t think I can be hipster about someone who was dead before I was born,” Tom said.

“No, hipsterism is the death of sincerity. If I say something is cool it’s because I’m really excited about it. I am really excited about finding you a Rousseau that you might never have seen a replica of. I don’t think I have a hip bone in my body,” she said. She glanced down at the map, still needing to consult it even after so many times in the building, and nearly missed that he had stopped walking.

“Someone said something very similar about me recently,” he said. His smile looked like a question. “I don’t think it was meant to be a compliment in my case.”

“It is though, isn’t it?” She took his hand to lead him through a broad corridor, kept hanging on as they headed towards the post-impressionists. “Too much irony can make you, I don’t know, almost dishonest.”

“It came up because he asked if one of my tattoos was ironic. I was like, no. Why would anyone do that?”

“So you say, but I’m sure I’ve seen it.” _It was Ben, right, we are talking about Ben._ She held her tongue, wondering if he’d slip up at any point during the weekend and just say his name. “I think some people genuinely enjoy irony. Which itself might be ironic.” She gently nudged him towards a staircase up to the second floor. “I think I’ll stop now, before my head starts to spin.”

“Good idea.”

She made a few wrong turns as she tried to find her way to _Repast of the Lion_ on feel alone, a cluster of Cezanne near one of Rousseau’s unfinished landscapes tricking her into thinking she was closer than she was. Finally she asked a docent, feeling sheepish as they had to retrace their steps.

“I’m in no hurry,” Tom said, slipping his arm around her shoulders in one of the broad corridors.

“I’m not in a _hurry,_ Shannon said. “I just like to think that I can find my way around.”

“Well, if you had curated these galleries, they’d make more sense, right?”

She snickered. “To me, anyway.”

Finally they found it. Shannon stopped several paces from the canvas, resigned when people kept walking in front of them to examine it, as if they were going to take a jeweler’s loupe to the paint itself.

“I like it,” Tom said, after they’d had several uninterrupted moments of taking it in. “There’s something about that lion that seems very friendly.” He tilted his head as he thought. “Though I’m sure that alligator doesn’t think so.”

“Rousseau studied the plants at the botanical gardens in Paris, but he took his inspiration for the animals from textbooks and children’s books. I’ve always thought this lion looks like a cousin of the Tawny Scrawny Lion.”

“Yeah.” Tom’s unguarded smile showed his teeth and she found herself staring at him for a moment, mesmerized. “He does remind me of that guy. I haven’t read those books in years. Louis is almost old enough for them now.”

Shannon shifted and he took his arm from around her shoulders, taking her hand before she had time to miss him. She could just sense him breathing next to her, standing still as he looked, and found herself pleased that he didn’t feel the need to race from gallery to gallery, the way so many people did. She was just getting antsy when he looked over at her.

“Are you ready to move on?” she asked.

“I am, actually. What else would you like to see?”

She thought for a moment. “I’d like to pay a visit to the Monet and then some of the American impressionists. After that I guess we’ll have to see if there’s more we want to see here.”

“Guess so.” He squeezed her hand, and she stifled a giggled at his flirtatious tone, glad she had to turn to lead them out of the gallery.

He was more careful and relaxed a museum guest than she had imagined him to be, and their trip through those rooms meandered out into other parts of the museum, and she found herself leaning over a vitrine, peering at a small clay cow sculpture.

“I’m _really_ out of my element here,” she said as she caught Tom staring at her from the other side of the display. “Mesopotamian art has never been my strong suit.” 

Tom’s smile was small, as if he was suppressing it, and she realized he hadn’t been looking at her as a prelude to asking about the art at all. She felt her face heat as she feigned interest in another part of the case, her head bent.

Tom stood behind her, squeezing her shoulders gently as he leaned forward, trying to see what she was looking at with such interest.

“I think that one is a cow,” he said, nudging the side of her face, his beard against her skin making her shiver. He kissed the spot that he’d rasped against, then stood up.

“Well spotted,” she said, turning towards him. “I think I’m ready to go. Are you?”

“I am indeed.”

In the lobby he took the the coatroom tag from her and queued while she waited by the door, standing off to one side out of the way of the still steady stream of people coming in out of the rain. She found an empty spot on a bench and sat down, pulling her phone from her pocket.

The first text she saw was from her sister. _Count yourself lucky not to be here today. It’s pissing down and we’re all stuck inside and Kathleen and Aiofe are both in a mood._

Shannon groaned inwardly, knowing what that had to be like. _Sorry I can’t be there to help_ she wrote.

Her sister responded almost immediately. _You’d only be stuck with Kathleen though. At least I can say that Aiofe needs some quiet time ;)_. Shannon imagined them up in the guest room and smiled. _How’s your fella?_

_He’s grand,_ Shannon texted back, chuckling to herself. Depending on the tone that might mean any number of things. 

_So you’re going to keep me in suspense, is that it?_

Shannon grinned as she texted back. _It’s been a really nice visit so far. We’re just leaving the Met now._ She glanced up to see Tom returning with her coat. _I hope the rest of your day gets better. I’ll check in later._ She slipped her phone back into her pocket.

“I’d ask what’s got you smiling at your phone like that but I’m not sure I want to know,” Tom said as he held her jacket up for her.

She slipped her arms into it, surprised by how nice it felt to be helped, his hand lingering on the back of her shoulder as she zipped up. 

“My sister was just giving me a bit of a hard time about being off on holiday while she’s managing her baby and dealing with our step-mother’s mood.”

“Not too serious a situation though, I take it?”

“Not at all.” Once they were through the door he took her hand again, only to let go again as they navigated down the crowded steps. The afternoon had turned even gloomier than before, a light drizzle starting up as she turned towards the flat.

“Shall we go back?” Tom asked.

“I think so,” she said. “There are a few places I’d like to go if we have time, but it’s looking like it might rain.” They paused at the crosswalk, joining the small cluster of people there. “It’s just as well.”

He smiled at her. “I don’t really want to go anywhere else either.”

The weather had turned cool enough that they were both happy to keep their hands in their pockets, but as they walked their arms brushed together, both of them hurrying, faces bent forward against the increasing mist.

“This might be my least favorite kind of weather,” Shannon said, dragging her hand across her face as they approached the flat. “I don’t usually complain about the weather but cold damp is hard to put a positive spin on.”

“Kind of feel like it’s seeping into my bones,” Tom said as they walked up the steps. 

“Exactly.” Shannon followed him into the foyer, waiting while he pulled the door firmly shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to say that as of this spring, the 25 dollar admission to the Met is not negotiable for people who are not residents of the state of New York.


	4. Chapter 4

They hurried up to the flat, the stairwell warmer than the outside but by no means cozy. Tom shed his coat quickly once they were inside, helping her out of hers and hanging them both on the hook. 

“Even my shirt got damp,” Shannon said, still feeling chilled. 

Tom took her hand and examined the cuff of her sleeve. “Better be having this then.” He managed to sound serious even as the corners of his mouth were twitching. 

Shannon squared her shoulders with his. “Yours looks pretty damp as well,” she said. 

He didn’t look away from her as he grasped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, stretching his arms up to pull the collar free of his face. He let the shirt drop behind him and took a half step towards her, running his hand over his face before letting his arms rest at his sides. She looked away from his face for a moment, taking in the way his arms couldn't quite lie flat against his ribs, pushed outwards by the bulk of his shoulders and upper arms. She swallowed hard, determined not to back down. She brought her soft shirt over her head, leaving the light chemise she had on underneath in place, lifting her chin at him as she let the shirt fall to the floor.

"That's not fair," he said softly.

"Yeah?" Shannon put a hand on her hip. "What are you going to do about it?"

Tom took a half step forward so his foot was between both of hers, brought his arm around her lower back and hugged her close, then grasped the back of the chemise as he spun her to the side, still holding her tight as he pulled the fabric up over her head. She gasped as she let it fall over her arms, barely able to catch her breath as he turned her again, pressed against his chest with his hands at her back. He kissed the side of her neck, pressing against the underside of her chin until she tilted her head up, giving him her throat as he gently scraped his teeth against her skin.

Pressed against him she knew he could feel every tremble as he let his hands roam over her back. She bent her head forward, leaning towards his neck, but he turned his head, capturing her mouth in a fierce kiss, holding the back of her head steady as he pressed against her with his entire height. 

Shannon broke away from him and rested her forehead on his shoulder, breathing deeply as he stroked his hands down her back, coming to rest just above the top of her jeans.

He lowered his head, resting his forehead against her, holding her in place as he spoke softly. 

"That's what I'm going to do," he said.

She laughed, her eyes closing as she shivered.

"Good plan," she said. She stepped back, feeling the way his arms seemed to uncoil to let her put some space between them. She lifted her hands to rest against his shoulders, tracing down his arms as she stepped back again, taking his hands in hers. She pulled on his hands as she kept walking, moving them back through the flat towards the bed. 

Tom stopped her in the middle of the living room, just before the sofa, gently pulling her close again. 

"What is it?" she asked, not sure why he would delay their course.

"Just really wanted to kiss you again. He pulled her in, gently this time, and she rested her hand on the back of his head, tilting her head just so. He brought his hands around her back, reaching down to cup her bum and she leaned back as she put her hands on his shoulders, almost sure of what he wanted. 

"Should I jump up?" she asked.

"Please." 

She wrapped her legs around him and held on as he walked towards the bed, their course much faster now. 

She squeezed him with her thighs as he turned towards the bed, just wanting to feel him against her. 

Tom leaned down and set her on the bed, reaching for the button on her jeans before he stood up. He undid them and grasped the waistband, his knuckles pressing against her skin as he pulled her jeans down to her calves before reaching back and grasping them at her ankles, pulling them free. 

She stretched her arms over her head, waiting for his next move. 

Tom sat on the edge of the bed and reached towards her stomach. She twisted on to her side as his hand came nearer, the heel of his hand resting just over her hip as his fingers wrapped around the soft curve of her waist. 

“This ok?” he asked.

“That’s good.” She eased herself onto her back again. “I’m just really ticklish over my stomach.”

He turned more fully towards her, bringing his other hand to rest on her opposite hip, pressing gently. 

“But this is ok?” He ran his hands slowly up and down from the edge of her bra to the top of her pants, his fingers pressing against her ribs as he moved.

She shivered as he let his thumbs brush over the fabric of her pants where they covered the inward curve between her hip bones and her mons, pulling it tight, touching her but indirectly.

“It’s ok,” she said as he stroked up again, his hands lingering in small circles on the sides of her waist. “It’s very nice actually.” She still felt like she was shivering on the inside, a shaky but steady build every time he moved his hands.

“Good.” He leaned back a bit, grasping the waistband of her pants as he did, then standing as he pulled them down to her feet, pulling them free and tossing them on top of her jeans. He put a hand over her outside knee, sliding his fingers up the inside of her thigh as he sat down next to her again. 

Shannon struggled for a moment to catch her breath, surprised that he’d simply sat down rather than taking his own jeans off. 

He cupped her in his hand, squeezing lightly, letting the heel of his hand rock against her pubic bone. She found herself breathing deeply through her mouth, reaching out for him as he let his fingers trace over the edges of her skin. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans.

“I can barely reach you,” she said. 

“That’s ok.” He took her hand away, and twisted himself so he was looking at her more fully, reached for her and used both thumbs to part her lips. She watched the shifting muscles of his arm as he pressed his fingers to the entrance of her cunt, resting there, gently pushing but not entering her. She held her breath as he stroked his fingers over her, sweeping them up as he let her flesh close around him, keeping her warm as he settled his fingers to either side of her clit. 

She remembered to breathe and met his gaze as he looked over at her gasp. He circled her gently, then firmer, pressing at her hood and then sweeping just over the most sensitive part of her. She let out a surprised _ha_ but held still.

He brought his fingers back to her cunt, tracing the smooth edges as he covered himself with her slick. "Earlier, you said there was something you don't usually do," he said. He let his fingers rest against her as he waited. "What was it?"

She swallowed hard as she tried to remember. "Earlier when?" She didn't recall them having a particular conversation about their boundaries.

"When I was touching you like this earlier," he said, bringing his fingers back up and bracketing her clit, tightening them just shy of pinching. 

"Oh right. I don't usually touch my clit. It's too sensitive so I stay just near it." She felt a certain thrill saying something so private and secret to him, as if they'd been together long enough that she could casually talk to him about how she touched herself.

"Was it alright when I did?" He looked concerned.

"It was." She resisted the urge to twist her hips closer to him. "It was really good, actually." She gave in and rocked herself closer to him. "I wouldn't mind if you did it again."

He smiled at her, moving his fingers down instead to rest just inside of her, pressing on her smooth walls, the stretch warming but not what she had been hoping for. "I will," he said, sliding back up. "Just want to make sure everything stays nice and wet."

"I brought lube, if we need it," she said, glancing over at the bedside table where she had left the small cosmetics bag. 

He laid his four fingers flat on her spread vulva, a broad warm pressure against every sensitive part of her, and let himself slide. 

“I don’t think so, do you?” His sly smile was infectious. 

“I guess not.” She didn't mean to whisper, but her words came out as one breath. 

He smiled at her, his hand still against her for the moment. She looked up at him, surprised by how comfortable she felt in that position, nearly naked while he was still wearing his trousers, literally being held in the palm of his hand. 

He shifted back as he slid his hand down, pressing against her and sliding in, fingers firm but smooth against her walls. She closed her eyes, sinking into the feeling of him occupying that space inside her, rolling her shoulders against the bed in a luxurious stretch as he let his thumb glide over her clit. There was something about the way the warmth spread through her as he touched her that reminded her of drinking hot cocoa on a cold day, and she smiled at the way that innocent thought clashed with the picture the two of them had to make. 

"What are you thinking about, that has you looking like that?" Tom asked. 

"I'll tell you later." She opened her eyes, and reached for his trousers again, tugging at the waistband. 

He held on to her hip as he pulled his other hand away from her. "Alright miss impatience." 

She rolled on to her side to watch him as he took his jeans off, her hand propping up her chin as he removed his pants, holding the waistband out over his cock as if it were too sensitive to tolerate being rubbed with the fabric. Tom didn't come directly back to bed but reached into the bag on the nightstand, pulled out a condom and rolled it on while he stood next to her. Once that was done he sat on the edge of the bed once more, lowering himself down on one elbow so they were face to face. 

Shannon held onto his shoulder as she pulled herself closer, angling her face up to kiss him. He held her with an arm over the back of her shoulders, pressing himself closer, his cock pressing against the warm inner curve of her hip. She reached down for him, fingers wrapping around the smooth latex coated surface of him, warmed so much it was almost indistinguishable from his own skin. She squeezed, just to see the furrow of his brow. 

He moved his hand from her back to her shoulder, pressing her on to her back again, shifting himself so he was balanced over her, his hands to either side of her shoulders. 

"Is this alright?"

"Yes." She reached for his cock, holding him as he moved his knees closer. He gently pushed her away as he took himself in hand, tracing his head against her slick skin, rubbing against her clit, blunt and warm. 

She tilted her hips up, trying to get him where she wanted him. He took the hint, leaning over her, letting his weight move him forward as he walked his hands up to her shoulders.

She kept straining towards him until they were pressed together, no further to go, then let her back flatten on to the bed, knee knocking into his side. 

Tom rested his forehead on hers, eyes closed for a moment, before he pushed himself up again, sliding forward until his shoulders were well forward of hers. 

He nuzzled her temple as he settled his weight over her, knees coming up to keep himself from crushing her. She turned her face towards his, angling up for a kiss as he started to move, slow slide at first, drawing back. As he pushed against her his intention became clear, the base of his cock dragging then pressing on her clit. She held still, waiting for it to hurt, or be too much, but she just felt a pleasant spreading warmth that left her wanting more as he drew away. 

"Nice," she muttered, not sure if she had spoken out loud until she heard him chuckle, low and soft next to her.

"Good." He rested his head next to her, kissing her neck as he kept their tempo slow, resisting her efforts to make him go faster or harder. As she tilted her pelvis determinedly towards him he rested more of his chest on her, reached back and held her hip steady with his hand. She shivered at the seeming effortlessness with which he held her still, then felt the muscles in her lower back relax against the mattress as she gave in. The warmth that seemed to encircle her hips and abdomen grew and her breath shuddered as she gave in, the sacrifice of what little control she had in that tension as frightening as it was satisfying.

Tom picked his head up as he replaced his hand on the mattress next to her, looking down at her, his scant fringe stuck to his forehead. She reached up to brush her fingers against his hair, finding it cool, still damp from the rain. He turned his head and nipped at the inside of her wrist, a sharp contrast to the warm broad pressure of him against her and inside her, reminding her that even as her orgasm built inside her that nothing hurt, no sharp edge or sting to the way they were moving together.

Tom pushed himself up, her chest cool where he had taken his cover away from her, and thrust in harder, a deeper thump that stirred up all the liquid warmth that had been building in her. She closed her eyes as she threw her head back, the moan escaping her open throat.

Tom was steady, his breath faster but his body still moving in the same rhythm, coaxing her to an edge that seemed closer with every second. She opened her eyes to look at him and found that he had closed his eyes too, a line forming between his brows as he parted his lips to breathe. She screwed her eyes shut as she felt herself clench around him, tried to relax, to keep the sweetness of the building warmth between them there. She let her mouth open wide as she moaned with every breath, fast high notes that wouldn't stop.

Tom touched his forehead to hers, kissed her lower lip and pulled back. She opened her eyes, reaching for his shoulder. He hadn't stopped fucking her, but the sensation that had been on the very edge of too much had settled out, spreading through her until she seemed to be filled and surrounded by it, breathing easily now. 

"You ok?" 

"I'm good," she said. "Keep going."

She held on to his shoulders, rocking her hips back and forth as he growled softly at her ear. Her breath caught and her head lifted off the bed, forehead pressed into the side of his neck as she came, shuddering around him. He slowed but didn't stop, shifting back so he wasn't pressing against her clit any longer. She gasped as the pressure lifted, throbbing all over again. 

Tom slid his hands to her hips as he leaned back, almost kneeling, holding her steady as he pressed himself deep, pulsing against her as he threw his head back. She watched the cords of his neck stand out as he gripped her hips tight, his fingers loosening as he lowered his head, his eyes still closed as he held still.

Shannon reached down and touched the back of his wrist, holding him gently. He opened his eyes, blinking down at her as he reached between them. 

She slid back a bit as he pulled himself free, holding onto the condom at the base of his cock. He didn't turn away from her as he pulled it off, tying it before leaning over the bed.

"Again, I'm sorry about that."

Shannon stretched her arms over her head. "Don't be." She held her arms open and he laid himself down next to her, lying against her arm for a moment before turning and gathering her up against him.

Shannon leaned her head on his chest, turning just enough to take in the scent of him, his warm skin still smelling of soap and warm clothes but also of something sharp and dark and very particular to him. 

She closed her eyes as he stroked her hair, moving her shoulder back and forth as he pulled a blanket over both of them. His hand kept moving, and but for that she might have thought he was asleep.

She let herself drift, savoring the moment even as she realized there were a few things competing for her time. She felt hungry and thirsty, and she needed a wash and a wee, but none of those things were demanding her entire attention. It was enough to know that for now, she had his arm around her and that they were both sleepy and warm, together. 

The thought that she wasn't the only person he shared such moments with hit her suddenly, jarring her so much that she lifted her head, setting it down quickly. She took stock of where she was. She'd known beforehand of course that he had sex with Ben, but the idea of them sharing a quiet naked moment in the time afterward seemed entirely different. She turned the thought around in her head and came to the fact that for now, he was only with her. He might share such moments with Ben but they would be different, by dint of the fact that Ben was a different person from her. How different, she didn't know, but it stood to reason that they could not be two people exactly the same. She turned her face closer to Tom's chest and breathed him in again, resolving to simply enjoy his presence.

"Are you alright?" Tom's hand on the back of her head shifted down to knead at her neck.

"I'm quite a bit better than alright," she said, turning so she could look up at him. 

He smiled at her, the left side of his mouth quirking up. "Same here. But you seemed startled, just now."

"I just went away for a moment," she said. "I'm back now."

"Oh?"

She shifted so she was lying next to him, meeting him eye to eye. "It wasn't anything important," she said, feeling the lie in the words, but not able to get into it at the moment. If she was going to admit to sudden temporary flashes of jealousy over a man she had never met, it wouldn't be while she was naked. "Nothing sad or evil, either," she added. She rested her hand on his chest, just over his pulse. "Just one of those funny moments."

"Ok." He rested his hand on top of hers. "We should get up." His closed eyes didn't do much to convey his intent in that matter.

"I know. But I don't want to either." Her stomach chose that moment to growl, just loud enough for both of them to hear. 

"I think our stomachs might want us to," Tom said. 

"So it would seem." She snuggled closer, curling her knees up.

Tom reached over to the nightstand and picked up his watch, looking at it for a moment before setting it down and turning back to her.

"Do you have to be somewhere?" she asked, only half kidding.

"Not for a good while yet," he said. He rubbed his hand over his face and then slowly sat up, pulling the covers over her as he did. "If it's alright with you I thought we would go out tonight."

Shannon turned fully on her side, looking up at him. "That's fine, but I don't want to make you go off your regimen," she said.

"I think I can handle one meal," he said. "Nothing too out of the ordinary. I thought we might go to the Gramercy Tavern."

Her stomach did an odd little flip flop. "That sounds very nice," she said. She was already counting in her head the likely price, trying to guess based on what she knew about restaurants with similar cachet in London. She'd walked past the tavern many times, but she'd never been inside, never even looked into it. 

"As I'm the one insisting that we go to a landmark restaurant, it will be my pleasure to take you out to dinner." He leaned over and kissed her forehead, waiting a moment before he stood up.

"That's very kind. Thank you." She didn't have it in her to prevaricate-- he'd seemed sincere, and his reasoning, that he was the one who took the initiative to go to a well known prestige establishment so he should foot the bill, was no more than what she'd said to her own friends under similar, though far more modest, circumstances. 

“Is it alright with you if I get in the shower?” Tom asked, standing up straight. 

“That’s fine with me,” Shannon said, gathering the covers up around her neck. “As long as you’re going first, I’m going to stay in the warm while you do.”

“I’d ask you to join me, but I’m going to return a call to Gavin while you’re in the shower,” Tom said. 

Shannon nodded. “I think that particular tub would be more than a little awkward for two anyway.” She curled up, looking at him from under her lashes. “Let me know when you’re done.” 

He reached down to rub her shoulder under the blanket before he turned to leave the room, and she settled in, her eyes closing as he walked away. 

As soon as she heard the door to the washroom click shut she opened her eyes, reaching for her jeans by the side of the bed and pulling out her phone. She rolled onto her back as she opened her messages.

_We have reached an uneasy detante_ her sister’s message read. Shannon wondered for a moment if she meant herself and the baby or if her father and step-mother were involved in that as well. _Here’s hoping for a quiet evening for all of you,_ Shannon wrote back, covering her bases.

There was a text from Max as well, and Shannon wrote back simply to say that she was having a nice time with Tom. She held the phone for a moment, contemplating texting Edward. Her fingers hovered over the keys, and she set the phone down, not even sure how to begin what she would want to say to him without being tawdry. She leaned her head back down on the pillow and closed her eyes, enjoying the chill of the room on her face while her body stayed warm. Outside the light was a uniform gray pierced by the orange of the street lights, and she savored the feeling of not having to be anywhere or do anything at the moment. 

Her full bladder was only a mild annoyance, and beyond that she still felt warmed to her core, as if her entire torso had stretched hard and then relaxed. She smiled as she rolled onto her side, curling up and resting her head on her hands.

She barely heard Tom return, his footsteps fading to the edge of her awareness, nothing to startle or awaken her until he crouched by the edge of the bed, his hand resting alongside hers. 

“What has you smiling like that?” he asked.

She lifted her head and met his eye. “I think you know.”

To her surprised he smiled and looked down, one side of his mouth held still as if he were trying to suppress it. It took a moment before he would look back at her, quickly pressing his lips together before he leaned in to kiss her. 

“Well, I’m glad,” he said as he sat back. “Are you ready to get up?”

She nodded, sitting up with her hand pressing the sheet against her chest. 

“Here,” he said, standing and reaching for the corners of the sheet still on the bed. “We’ll wrap you up.” As she leaned forward he wrapped the edges of the sheet around and over her shoulders, leaving her space to get one arm free. She stood at the side of the bed as he swept the excess fabric up over one shoulder. It wouldn’t hold for long, but she was grateful to be covered for her walk to the washroom. 

“Do you want me to put your bag in there?” he asked.

“That’d be great, actually.” She got her bearings as he picked up her bag, and she followed him through the living room. He had thrown on a pair of thick gray sweatpants, but the play of his muscles under the fabric was still obvious. 

He set her bag down just inside the washroom and turned to her, perhaps misconstruing her staring at his trousers. 

“I’m going to change before we go out,” he said. 

“Of course.” She adjusted her makeshift toga. “Me too.” She gathered up the small toiletries bag she had left in the nightstand, leaving the condoms behind. 

In the washroom she set out the few make-up items she planned to use and scrutinized her hair. She didn’t really need to wash her hair and with the shower head not actually being mounted above her head she could control where the water went. That decided, she stepped into the tub. She did find the handheld shower awkward, but there was something charming about it too, the high sides of the tub practically begging her to give up on the idea of a shower and take a bath instead. As she twisted and turned herself, angling away from the curtain that always seemed to want to enter the tub on some warm draft or other, she took stock of where she was sore and how. Despite everything she didn’t find any unpleasantly tender spots. As she turned the water off she reached out to the sink for her towel, drying off in the tub as the last of the water gurgled down the drain. 

Standing before the mirror she looked over her throat and shoulders, surprised that there weren’t any obvious marks from Tom’s teeth, then smiled at the thought that they would simply have to try harder the next time.

She finished her simple make-up and pulled on her black tights and soft gray dress, glad that she had packed the single nice outfit, just in case. After running the brush through her hair one last time and packing up her things she still paused, not sure if Tom was still on the phone with Gavin and if so would she be visible, walking in the background of a Facetime call or similar. For one single moment she felt indecent, as if this trip was something to be hidden or even denied if asked about later. Then she shook herself, remembering that Tom was a grown man and if he didn’t want her seen or heard on this phone call he would have told her. She opened the door, carrying her bag, and saw him sitting on the sofa, phone held to the side of his face. He winked at her as she walked by, and she smiled as she brought her bag back to the bed nook. 

Tom wrapped up his phone call quickly, and returned to the little room as she was pulling her shoes on. 

“Are you ready?” he asked. He had changed while she was in the shower, now wearing dark gray trousers, a softer gray shirt and navy blazer. She curled and uncurled her fingers as she thought about what it would feel like to push the coat off over his shoulders.

“Just need my jacket, but I’m in no hurry,” she said. 

“I’m ready to go as well,” he said, walking with her to the door.

“Did we have reservations?” she asked.

Tom ducked his head, looking sheepish. “The tavern side doesn’t actually take reservations, and I thought it looked like the better place to eat so I thought we’d just head over on the early side of things.”

“I’ve heard the same,” Shannon said. “And we’re in no hurry.” She shrugged on her coat, zipping it up. “Shall we take the subway?”

“If you don’t mind a little walk,” Tom said. 

“Not at all.” She impulsively leaned forward and kissed his cheek, remembering their last evening time walk. “I’m looking forward to it.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shannon and Tom go out to dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now Tom Hardy's POV through the end of "Find the Map and Draw a Straight Line."

Tom looked around the dining room once they were seated. It was just as he had hoped--the low ceiling and heavy wood absorbing enough of the noise of the other diners that they could hear each other but keeping them enveloped in their own warm little enclave with a pillar next to the table.

Shannon was facing the interior of the restaurant and he watched as she unfolded her napkin, looking up at the illuminated bar. She leaned towards him as she tucked her napkin across her lap. 

“Nice in here isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Reminds me of a rustic hunting lodge or something. Though I can’t say I’ve ever been in one of those.”

“Me neither.” She looked on the verge of saying something, and he saw the deep breath when she decided to say it. “Will it bother you at all, being in a tavern?”

He shook his head. “It’s in the name isn’t it? I’d have avoided it if it were a problem, no matter how good their steak is supposed to be.” He heard the admonishment in his voice, and he hadn’t intended it to be there. “Drinking is just something that other people do that I don’t. It’s not a problem. I don’t feel tempted or jealous.” She nodded and didn’t seem perturbed about his initial explanation. “You can have a drink yourself if you like. I like talking to you so I’d prefer that you not get entirely trollied but that’s up to you.”

Shannon laughed softly. “Not really my style, I’m happy to tell you. I’ll decide on a drink or not once I’ve figured out what I’m going to eat.” She was toying with the edge of her menu, but not opening it while they were still talking.

“As for that, I need to make a decision myself,” he said, picking up his menu. He looked over the short list of starters and mains, happy to see that they were mostly heavy on unadorned protein, with the sort of lengthy list of sides and accoutrements that meant each item would be represented in some unexpected way. His decision quickly made, he turned his attention back to Shannon.

She set her menu down a moment later, smiling at him as she noticed him watching her. 

“I always like a short menu,” she said. “It’s reassuring.”

“Oh?”

“It means an orderly kitchen with nothing aging out of its own taste or safety, and a pretty good chance that each dish is going to be made correctly every time.” She paused to take a sip of water. “It’s kind of funny because I only ever worked in places that had a very limited menu, like pop-ups and catered events, but some of my favorite restaurants have had absolutely out of control menus. Just, ridiculous numbers of things available all the time. Sometimes you can find the common thread that means really even if there’s like, forty items available there’s really only twelve or so actual unique items, but these places had truly unique plates that required say, shaved coconut for one dish and it didn’t turn up anywhere else. I never saw the back of the house but I always imagined someone ordering the almond joy pancakes and this mad hysterical search for the containers of coconut and almonds.”

“Was this a breakfast place?” Tom asked, the mental image he had begun to spin based on his assumption of her favorite restaurant suddenly at odds with the presence of almond joy pancakes.

“It could be, but everything was available all the time. And the service was horrible, most of the time. It was shocking when it was anything but.”

“Why on earth was this your favorite restaurant?” Tom asked.

“It had really interesting decor and they didn’t mind big groups. They were open late. And they had a really great grilled cheese. A few years ago I went back when I was in Boston and they’d scaled the menu way down, removed most of the more potentially offensive decor, and replaced most of the staff. It was disappointing.”

Shannon paused when their waiter returned to the table, but Tom picked up the thread of the conversation after they’d both ordered, confused about one thing.

“How could the decor at a restaurant be offensive?”

“One short wall was covered in pin-up wallpaper. Pin-ups can be kitschy cute, but some of these pushed the envelope pretty hard. Still, it was nice to have something interesting to look at while waiting an eternity for a grilled cheese.”

Tom found his interest piqued. “Were they _just_ interesting?”

Shannon laughed softly, taking a drink of her water. “They were decent enough to be the wallpaper in an establishment that occasionally had families with children dine there, but yeah, they were drawn to a certain effect.”

“I was taking a prurient interested in how you were affected,” Tom said.

Shannon leaned back a bit, smiling at him as she raised only her right brow. It was a slow shift in her expression, and Tom wondered if she even knew she was doing it. “I believe I already told you I never met a woman I wanted to date.”

“I know,” Tom said. “I shouldn’t pry.”

She settled in her chair, closer to the table again. “It’s alright. I think that’s the clearest I can be about whether or not I actually find women attractive. If a beautiful woman ever hit on me I would be flustered and flattered but I’m not sure what else. When it comes to pictures a sexy picture is just a sexy picture, isn’t it? Even if it was a provocative photo of a man I think you’d still feel some kind of effect.”

“Well, yes,” Tom said, enjoying the sight of her eyes widening, followed by the laughter she tried to stifle with her hand over her mouth. 

“Sorry,” she said, getting herself under control. “I forgot for a moment there.”

“That’s alright,” Tom said. “I flatter myself to say that it’s not the most interesting thing about me.”

“I’d say not by a long shot,” Shannon said. “Though I suppose we’re no closer to figuring out where I stand on a Kinsey scale.”

“Not that it matters,” Tom said. “Hence my calling my interest prurient.”

Their sodas were delivered to the table, Shannon briefly thanking their waiter before turning back to him. 

“Well, cheers to that,” she said, slightly lifting her glass towards him. 

“What kind did you get?” Tom asked. His was a deep red, blackberry and plum flavoring the sparkling water.

“Green apple and fennel,” she said. Her glass was dressed with a long frond of fennel wrapped around the inside. “I like things that are tart and herbal, and sometimes the alcoholic drinks that are made in that vein disappoint me because I can taste the alcohol too much. This seemed like a sure thing.”

“And is it?” Tom asked.

“It is.”

Their salads arrived and Tom found that he’d almost forgotten the pleasant way conversation could flow over a shared meal, the food itself always providing a place to start. As they finished he found himself listening raptly as Shannon described her first trip to New York as a child.

“It’s funny but the thing I remember the best out of the whole trip, and we saw a lot, was standing in line at the Empire State Building, to take the elevator to the top, there was this old map of Manhattan on the wall, with the major buildings labeled. Two of them were the Statler and Waldorf hotels. I had heard of the Waldorf hotel because of Waldorf salad, but I had never heard of the Statler hotel. But I realized, they were the namesakes of Statler and Waldorf, the muppets who sit on the balcony in the Muppet Show.”

“I love those guys,” Tom said.

“Me too, and I just felt so happy, in that moment, even though we were in this long line and everyone in my family was irritable. I kind of wanted to tell my dad but then I decided to keep it a secret. I actually thought I was one of the few people who knew, and I liked that.”

“You might be one of the few people who know,” Tom said. “I certainly didn’t know. I don’t think I even knew that there’s a Statler hotel.”

“It’s the Hotel Pennsylvania, now,” Shannon said. “I was just so thrilled at the idea that there are these two staid hotels, rather old, and they’re the inspiration for these two curmudgeons who snark on everything.”

“I can see why,” Tom said. “I can imagine you keeping it to yourself too.”

“I sort of had a collection of things like that,” Shannon said. “I don’t think I ever felt settled enough in one place to be a collector of things, but I would collect these little thought tidbits.”

“I lived in the same place from when I was born until I left home and I still did that,” Tom said. “Though, I admit I can be sentimental about things too.”

“Seems like you make sure you can’t lose the things you’re most sentimental about,” Shannon said, glancing at his collarbone.

“True.” Tom reached up to touch his skin, feeling her gaze there like an itch. 

Their conversation slowed a bit when their food came, Tom suppressing a smile as he thought of why, exactly, they were both so genuinely hungry. 

“This is every bit as good as I’d hoped,” Shannon said as she set her cutlery down, pausing. 

“I agree.” Tom felt surrounded by warmth, completely content to be sitting at the table with her, not thinking ahead to the next thing or the next day at all. It was an unusual feeling, and he noted it only long enough to appreciate it. 

Shannon caught his eye as he looked across the table at her. “Is it difficult, holding this sort of various detritus that I’m telling you about my life alongside what you know about Ben?”

He set his own cutlery aside as he thought, wanting to give her question due consideration.

“I’d say no, but it’s an interesting thought. I don’t think there’s actually a limit to that sort of thing, because it’s not as if I’m going to remember every single word. It’s more like an impression, over time.”

“It might be different if you had met us both at the same time,” Shannon offered.

“It would be very different,” Tom said, shaking his head as he realized he couldn’t even imagine it.

“I suppose it would be difficult to get to know two people at the same time.” She picked up her fork and knife and resumed eating.

“I imagine it would be.” He waited a moment, to see if she was going to pursue that line of thought further, but he was hungry, still, and his food was good, better than he was used to of late, and he got back to it, finishing all too quickly. 

Tom looked over at Shannon’s empty plate. “Would you like anything else?” he asked. He didn’t think his own indiscretions could possibly extend to sweets, but if she wanted dessert he wouldn’t want his own abstention to stand in her way.

She finished her drink and set down the empty glass, thinking for a moment before shaking her head. “No, I think this was just right. You?”

“I’m alright as well.”

They were both quiet as Tom settled their bill and retrieved their coats.

“It’s not even late,” Shannon said as they stepped out onto the footpath. “I just feel so tired all of a sudden.”

“You’ve been awake for a long time,” Tom pointed out. “And you’ve done a lot today, traveling, and the museum, and,” he paused, glancing over at her, not sure how to describe the rest given that they were in public.

Shannon clutched his upper arm as she laughed, trying to carry on walking in a straight line but stumbling into him, hiding her face against his sleeve as she let him guide her over to the edge of the walkway near a doorway where they were out of the way of other pedestrians. Her laughter was infectious, and Tom tried to get his own giggles under control as he held her tighter against him. 

“Sorry,” she said, straightening up. “Just, the way you paused and looked at me it was too much.”

“Wasn’t on purpose,” he said. “Just thinking out loud.”

“Well. It worked, anyway.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, then took his arm again. “When I was younger I always felt like people could tell just by looking at me,” she said. 

“I think that might have been true this time,” Tom said, feigning thoughtfulness. 

“Maybe.” She sighed as they paused for a crosswalk and he felt her lean on him more than before. 

Tom tightened his arm around her, coaxing her along as he led them to a nearby taxi rank. She didn’t protest, letting him bundle her into a cab and then leaning on his arm the whole way home.

Inside the flat he took her jacket and hung it beside the door.

“Are you ready for sleep?” he asked.

“I think so, yeah,” she said. She yawned, swaying slightly. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, it’s been a long day for both of us.” He took off his own coat. “Do you want the washroom?”

“Yes. I just need to brush my teeth.” She left her shoes by the door. “Are you tired as well?”

“I’ll be right behind you,” he said. He sat on the sofa as she gathered up the things she needed, taking out his phone as she shut the washroom door.

He had no texts from Ben. It wasn’t surprising, given that Ben knew he was on a weekend away with Shannon. The charitable side of Tom’s mind believed that Ben didn’t want to intrude. On the other hand, he might be irritated about being so completely pushed aside, even for a couple of days. Prior to Ben’s ill-timed declaration there had been days that they hadn’t spoken or texted, often much more than just a weekend, but both of them had made an effort to keep more in touch of late. He held his phone, considering, then set it down. There was no way to simply send a message, because shortly he wouldn’t be able to respond to anything Ben might send back, unless he wanted to ignore Shannon who would, by then, be next to him in bed. He sighed, leaning his head against the back of the sofa.

He closed his eyes and realized he must have dozed off when he looked at the open washroom door, no sign of Shannon. He went in and brushed his teeth, then returned to the bedroom, turning the lights in the living area off as he went. 

Shannon was curled up on her side on the inside of the bed, facing him. He thought she was asleep but she spoke as he began pulling off his trousers.

“Do you want to be the little spoon?”

He chuckled as he pulled his shirt off. “That might be nice.”

When he was down to his shorts he considered getting into bed but Shannon appeared to be wearing a similar outfit to what she’d worn to bed at his house before. He pulled a pair of sweatpants and a soft shirt from his luggage and pulled them on.

Shannon rubbed her face against his upper back as he settled in, nuzzling against the fabric. 

“Do you like my pyjamas?” he asked as he pulled the covers over them both. 

“I like being cozy.” She adjusted her limbs so that she was doing a credible impression of a big spoon, her knees tucked behind his, one arm thrown over his shoulder. He took her hand in his.

“I’ll probably roll away from you at some point,” he warned. 

“Me too.” She yawned again as she shifted her pillow, her head angled away from the back of his neck. “Don’t worry about waking me up. I’m a deep sleeper.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Shannon wake up together.

He woke twice in the night, once to find that she had rolled away so they were back to back, and a second time when he found himself pushed to the edge of the smaller mattress and rolled over himself so he was facing the curve of her spine. When he woke in the morning he was vaguely aware of a soft shushing noise in the room. He reached forward experimentally, and found Shannon’s side of the bed empty. He rolled over, opening his eyes as he did, and found Shannon sitting on the floor, doing up her trainers.

“Morning,” he said, his voice raspy.

“Morning,” she said. “Did I wake you?” She stood up and he realized she was dressed for going out, jogging bottoms and a fleece topped with a light scarf looped around her neck.

“No, I think I would have woken up because of the light anyway,” Tom said. The day was bright and clear, a far cry from the day before. “Are you going out?”

“I was going to go for a quick jog in the park,” she said.

“I’ll go with you.” He threw the covers off, sitting on the edge of the bed, but he didn’t miss the flicker of apprehension on her face. “Unless you’d rather that I didn’t?”

“I’m not going far, or fast,” she said. “It was more for the scenery. If that will bother you we could always leave together and meet up when we’re done.”

“I’m not fast either,” he said. “If you get tired of slowing down for me we can meet back here.” 

She stood up, tugging on the edge of her fleece as she did. “I think you underestimate how slow I can be, but likewise.”

He stretched as he moved to the edge of the bed. “Just need a few minutes,” he said.

When he was ready he found her in the kitchen nook, drinking a glass of water.

“Are you bringing water?” he asked.

She shook her head, refilling the glass and handing it to him. “I’m going out for thirty minutes, I won’t die if I don’t have water with me.”

“True.” He drank and then set the glass in the sink.

“I didn’t even ask if you minded drinking after me,” Shannon said as she pulled her scarf up like a cowl.

“I think it’s fine.” He bumped his hip against hers as they left the tiny kitchen.

Out on the sidewalk he was glad that he’d added a thin scarf to his outfit as Shannon had done, both of them tucking them over their mouths.

“It’s a lot colder than I thought,” Shannon said.

“Just makes it easier to keep moving,” Tom said. Shannon nodded and they set off towards the park, jogging side by side as there were no other people on the sidewalk. 

“Kind of nice that we’re the same height,” Tom said as they approached the end of the street.

“It is nice,” Shannon said. She wasn’t breathless, he noted, speaking in her normal voice. 

“Is this speed ok for you?” he asked. They paused at the crosswalk, waiting for a break in the sparse traffic.

“It’s perfect.” She turned to him once they had crossed the street. “You’re not bored?”

He followed her lead as she jogged along the front of the museum, avoiding a small family group by running up onto the steps for a moment. 

“This is plenty fast for me,” he said as they entered the park. “I’m not exactly built for speed.”

“Neither am I,” she said as they followed the path alongside the glass walls, climbing a small hill. “I just like getting outside, and I get bored if I’m just walking in a circle.”

“Same here.” 

Tom pushed down the cloth away from his nose as he warmed up. The silence between them felt comfortable, totally at odds with the noise in his head that was usually there during monotonous exercise, and with the music he usually used to try to drown it out. Now he could appreciate that it wasn’t even silence, really, there was the sound of their footsteps against the grit of the paths, the breeze in the few dry leaves that were left, even the distant sound of the Sunday morning traffic and the scraping feet of other joggers (who inevitably passed them) blended into a pleasant monotony. 

“Are we going around the lake?” Tom asked as it came into view.

Shannon looked over at him, pulling down her scarf. “No, I had something else in mind,” she said. 

“Alright.” They still ran side by side but he found it easy to pick up on her changes in direction and they made their way along the back of the museum without bumping into one another. 

Shannon slowed down as they came to a corner, turning towards a paved garden area. 

“Found it,” she said, indicating the statue of Alice in Wonderland that was before them. “I knew about where it was but not exactly.”

“I’ve heard of it but I’ve never seen it,” Tom said. Shannon grinned at him, clearly happy to have shown him something new.

Shannon ran up to the statue, planting her foot on the lowest toadstool and pulling herself up by the mouse’s hat. 

“It’s meant to be climbed on,” she said over her shoulder as she went higher, sitting once she got to Alice’s knee and looking back at him. She drew her feet up and sat cross-legged, leaning back as she looked down at him. Tom raised his phone and took her picture, pausing to wait while her expression moved from exasperation to a composed smile. 

“Come on up,” she said. “Then I can take a picture of you up here as well.”

Tom chose a different path, sitting just opposite her, his feet resting underneath hers as he braced himself. She took out her phone, considering him.

“It’s not quite the same as if I were on the ground,” she said as she took his photo. “You can’t really get an appreciation for the fact that you had to climb up here.”

“It was easy though,” he said. “I thought maybe you were kidding when you said it was meant to be climbed on.”

“No, it really was designed that way.” She set her phone down in her lap. “For children, though, I mean.” She looked sheepish.

“Don’t see too many of those out at this time of day,” Tom said. There had been a few women they’d passed pushing buggies but it was still too early for most school aged children to be out. 

“True.” She looked up, picking out her path, and went higher, settling in the crook of Alice’s elbow. Tom followed her, wedging himself beside her.

“I know I need to move along or else I’ll get stiff,” she said. “I’ve just never had the Alice statue to myself before.”

“Apparently the crack of dawn on a Sunday morning is the time to do it,” Tom said. “We do need to go though, your nose looks cold.”

“Does it?” Shannon reached up to her nose, petting it experimentally. “I can’t tell, which I suppose is a bad sign.”

“Mine might be as well,” Tom said. He leaned forward, brushing the tip of his nose against hers. When she giggled he felt the laugh bubbling up inside himself as well and he cupped his hand behind her head as he pressed his lips quickly to hers. 

Shannon’s cheeks were even more pink than before, her blush mingling with the color that had been there fore the cold and the run itself. 

“I know it’s corny as hell,” Tom said. “But I feel like we need a picture of us on this statue.”

“Alright,” Shannon said, reaching up to brush a lock of hair off her face, adjusting the scarf around her neck. “Should we have you take it? I think your arms are longer.”

“Fair enough.” He leaned his head towards her shoulder and reached out, fumbling with the camera button with cold fingers. He managed to take one photo before the phone slipped and he caught it with both hands, laughing at his own clumsiness. 

“Hey!” They both turned, startled. Tom put his hand on the flattest part of the statue beneath him, ready to swing down to confront this person if needed. The raised hand of the man who had paused in his own jogging seemed friendly enough though. 

“Yeah?” Tom called down. 

“Do you want me to take your photo?” The man was looking up at them with his hands on his hips, feet still moving restlessly, as if he was afraid to get cold standing there.

“Sure,” Shannon said, holding on to Tom’s arm as she leaned over the edge of the statute to hand her phone down. She eased closer and linked their arms as she smiled down at the stranger who now held her phone. He took two photos and handed it back. “Thanks,” Shannon said. The stranger only waved in response, already jogging away.

“In the daytime you have to wait your turn to get a picture on this thing,” Shannon said. “In the summer, anyway. I’ve always been kind of impressed that people do wait.”

“I was not expecting that,” Tom said. “The guy offering to take our photo.”

Shannon shrugged. “It didn’t surprise me too much. My sister worries that people are going to steal her phone when they offer, but I figure that’s a pretty high energy expenditure for not a lot of profit.”

“Very practical,” Tom said, kissing the top of her head as he stood up. “I have to get down from here, my arse is freezing to the metal.”

“I feel the same,” she said. “Should we go straight back, or do you want to go a little further?”

“What did you have in mind?” Tom tucked his phone into his pocket, pulling on his gloves. 

“We could go around the fountain, then back to the flat from there.” She lowered herself to the top of the mouse’s hat then jumped to the ground, landing in a crouch. 

“Sounds fine to me.” Tom was stiff enough that he lowered himself more carefully to the ground. 

He loosened up quickly, especially as the day was growing warmer. Shannon kept her scarf over her mouth but he pulled his away as they made the loop around the fountain. 

“Are we heading back now?” Tom asked as he jogged beside her.

“Pretty much a straight shot now,” she said. She tugged her scarf out of the way. “This is the part where I just really want to walk, but I keep running because it’ll be over with faster that way.”

“I know that feeling,” he said. “It’s why I don’t run on a treadmill. I just stop when I get bored or tired.” He sniffed, his nose running in the cool air. “I’ll race you to the sidewalk.”

Shannon looked around at the empty path, then back at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously.” 

She shrugged. “Be prepared to wait for me then, I guess,” but she was already bouncing on her toes.

“Ok ready? Go.” Tom found himself trying to catch up to her from the first moment, her stride longer and smoother than his own, though he was able to close the gap with a stronger push on each step, his turnover faster too. She glanced over her shoulder at him and then dug in, shoulders bending forward as she pushed herself harder to the end, her feet tagging the grass at the edge of the sidewalk a moment before him.

Tom pulled his scarf back up, his throat feeling raw, as she leaned with her hands on the front of her thighs, catching her breath. She stood up, stretching her back, and met his eye as she straightened herself.

“Tell me the truth,” she said, only slightly breathless. “Did you just let me win?”

He shook his head, knowing she couldn’t see his grin behind the scarf. “I really didn’t. Where’s the fun in that?”

“My thoughts exactly.” She still looked a little wary, but he could see the crinkles beside her eyes as she pulled her scarf back up. “I’m ready to be inside. My eyeballs hurt.”

“Same here.” 

They took the trip back to the flat at a more sedate pace, slowly warming as they climbed the stairs.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Tom said, pulling his jacket off. 

“Go ahead,” Shannon said, hanging her scarf up next to his. “I’ll go after you.” She kissed his cheek as she walked over to the sofa, and he wondered if she felt the hours they had left ticking down the way he did.

When he got out of the shower he dried off and pulled his track pants back on, walking back to the bedroom in his bare feet. He stopped behind the sofa to lean forward, kissing the crown of her head. 

He heard her go into the washroom as he sat down on the bed, considering his next move. He had no idea what she might want to do for the rest of the day, but they would both need breakfast. He leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes, fully aware that it was a bad idea, lifted his feet up onto the bed intending to get up in a moment. The sunlight filtered through his eyelids was a warm orange and despite that he dozed off, almost asleep by the time Shannon came back into the room. 

“Are you going back to sleep?” she asked. She was wrapped in one of the large bath sheets, the front twisted shut just under her arm. 

“No. I’m getting up in a minute, I swear.”

She pulled her hair tie out and ran her fingers through her damp locks. “A likely story,” she said. “I shared this bed with you last night, I’m sure of it, but somehow you’re taking up the whole thing now.”

“Did you want to get in?” he asked, shifting his legs. He was lying diagonally on it, not really leaving enough room for her unless she was curled into a ball.

“It looks cozy, and as you don’t look like moving,” she said, moving closer. 

He spread his arms open as she turned her back to him, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning back as she swung her legs up, her back neatly against his torso, their shoulders offset as she rested her head on the pillow he pulled down from the top of the bed. He put his hands on her hips once she was still and shifted her so her weight was more evenly distributed across his own hips. 

“Comfortable?” he asked her.

“Surprisingly, yes,” she said. “You?”

“I’m good.” He ran his hands up her sides, fingers hooking into the top of her towel. “May I?”

“Yes, please.” She rolled her shoulders back, wiggling side to side for just a second. It was a motion he’d seen her make before, and he had begun to take it as meaning that she was comfortable, and becoming moreso. When she was still he undid the twisted fold in the towel, pushing each half off to the side. She was too close to really see, the curve of her shoulder really all he could focus on, but he was able to trace his hands along her sides easily enough, tentatively cupping the sides of her breasts when he came to them. 

“Mmm. Yes, do that,” she said, her voice soft and nearly at his ear. 

He held her breasts in his hands, thumbs stroking the yielding firmness of the outer curve while his fingers cradled the soft warm skin that normally sat against her chest. He lifted his hands a bit, then let them fall, smallest fingers resting against her skin.

“It’s funny,” she said, her forehead touching the side of his head. “Your arms are at just the right angle and this is pretty much how I usually play with my tits.”

He knew she could feel the sharp intake of his breath, the surprise at her sharing that with him.

“Yeah?” he asked. “Usually? Does this happen often?”

She wiggled her shoulders against him again, moving down just a fraction of an inch. “Pretty much every day, unless I fall asleep in my clothes.” She settled and closed her eyes as he kept moving his hands, just lightly massaging her. “They spend all day with me in their little cages, it seems only nice to check in with them.”

“It is nice.” He shifted his hands so his thumbs were tracing down the top of her breast, gently grasping her nipple before starting over.

“Now, this is a bit different,” Shannon said. “This sort of thing I save for special.”

“Really.” He increased the pressure against her skin just a bit. “Like what?”

“If I want to warm myself up really slowly,” she said. He felt her shoulders relax as she let her head fall more deeply into the pillow. “This is good.” Her voice was softer, almost sleepy.

Tom kept caressing her, the feeling of her warming under his hands irresistible. 

“Can I call them your tits?” he asked, squeezing a little harder.

“Hmmm.” Shannon turned her head towards him, but was still too close to really look at his face. “If you’re speaking to me. I’d prefer that you not speak _of_ them.” 

“Of course.” He let his right hand rest flat over her breast for a moment, then slid his hand down her side, grasping her hip before sliding over her mound. “How shall I refer to the rest of you?” He stroked at her cleft, gently pressing until she opened up. 

“I think I’d like to hear your ideas,” she said, sounding pleased with her little gambit. She was wet enough that he was able to glide along her warm smooth skin, settling with the pad of his finger snug against the side of her clit, rubbing it in gentle circles through the loose skin of its hood. 

“Fuck,” Shannon muttered. “That is pretty accurate.”

He took a guess as to what it would take to make his touch more accurate and tightened his grasp, thumb sliding against her trimmed hair as his finger rubbed her more firmly. She gasped, leaning into his touch before settling. 

“I already know you call this your clit,” he reminded her. 

She laughed, a short breathy sound. “What the fuck else would you call it?” she asked. She reached up to pinch her right nipple, so recently neglected. “No, you know what, do not answer that.” 

He shifted his head to the side just enough to be able to look at the side of her face. Her eyes were closed as she tilted her head back, lips parting as she breathed deeply. She twisted her hips from side to side, lifting up off the surface of the bed as she pressed against his hand. He loosened his grasp, letting his fingers slide against her, his first two fingers sliding down her crease until he was snug against her opening, fingers playing against her slit but not pushing in. 

“I think I’m going to have to give you this one,” Shannon said softly. “Because I don’t think you’d ever dare.”

Tom waited, his fingers so slick he was sliding against her without trying. 

“Come on,” she urged him. “Get your fingers in my cunt.”

He groaned as he slid in, finding her soft and pliable. He took a moment to figure out how to hold his hand, twisting inside her easily as he turned his hand palm down, the pads of his fingers reaching back up towards his wrist. She tightened around him for a moment as he pressed harder, relaxing as he straightened his fingers out as best he could, just enjoying the feeling of being surrounded by her. She reached down and spread herself so the heel of his hand was snug against her soft flesh, her clit an indistinct bump against his palm. 

His wrist started to ache with the strange position of being flexed at such an acute angle.

“I don’t mean to complain but this position isn’t half awkward,” he said, turning his head so he could at least get a blurry impression of her too-near face.

“Tell me about it.” Her smirk was just visible. 

He took that as permission to take his fingers away, letting his hand cup her in a much more relaxed state. “So,” he said. “What about this?” He spread his fingers apart, tracing along the slick edges of her.

“Like, all of it?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He relaxed his hand, holding her gently. 

“I don’t know that I’ve ever used a single word to describe it,” she said. She slid her shoulders back to look at him more closely. “You clearly have something in mind. What do you call it?”

“Don’t have to call it anything, if you don’t like,” he said.

“But when you thought about us,” she said, her voice low and soft, almost a purr, “did you have something in mind?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of the times he’d felt so denied by the circumstances that surrounded them back in London. “I admit, I did think about your pussy.”

She blinked slowly, licking her lips as she smiled. “Alright. I like that. It sounds nice when you say it.” She pressed her shoulders back and rolled to the side, his hand trapped against her as she reached for the bedside table. She released him as she shifted again, turning towards him even as she moved away, holding the condom out to him. “And now, if you don’t mind, I’d really like your cock.”

He took the condom, watching her as he rolled it on. “My cock, is it?”

“Yes.” She propped herself up on her elbows to watch him as he shifted to kneel in front of her, gently moving her legs so he was between her knees. “Unless you prefer something else?”

“No.” He slid his hands around her hips, reaching down to her lower back and lifting against her tailbone. She planted her feet on the bed and raised herself up, stopped only by his hands holding her tight. “You got it just right.” 

He left one hand under her, most of the work of holding her up already done by her. He felt her foot shift on the bed next to him and she was steadier, nearly hovering over his hand. He took himself in hand and enjoyed the slow torture of just barely pressing himself against her, sliding against her clit, the warmth seeping through the condom quickly. His gaze wandered over her thighs, the taut line of her quads softening where leg met hip. Her belly had a layer of softness, with a little curve just over her mound that sloped down towards her navel-- now with her shoulders taking most of her weight it was flattened out, the shift of her muscles as she held herself up just hinted at, the contour of her torso changing with every breath. 

Her upper arms were pressed into the bed, but she had lifted her right hand to her breast, fingers playing against her nipple as she watched him, smiling as she bit her lip. He pressed himself more firmly against her cunt, almost groaning out loud as she moved closer, shoulders sliding against the sheet as she took him in. He brought his hands back to her hips, holding her steady as he leaned forward. Her hips twisted against him as one of her feet shifted and thumped against the side of his leg as she sought a firmer purchase on the bed. 

Tom closed his eyes, overwhelmed for a moment by the feeling of her surrounding him, taut and warm. When he looked at her again, she seemed to be trembling.

“You don’t have to hold yourself up,” he said. He let his fingers grip into the skin of her lower back, his forearms pressing into the sides of her hips. “I’ve got you.”

She took a quick breath in, then sighed, her hands coming up off the surface of the bed as she relaxed, letting him take her weight in his hands. She stretched her arms over her head, arching her back as she stretched, a soft moan escaping her mouth as she settled again, her arms still outstretched on the pillow behind her.

Tom drew her closer, relishing the pull in his arms as she gave herself over to him. He fucked her slowly, moving with his breath, watching her chest rise and fall as they lined up. Shannon almost looked asleep, but her hands were busy, pushing her hair off her forehead, touching her throat, fingers splayed out over her sternum. She moved her hand over, forearm crossing under her breasts as she cupped herself. He slowed, meeting her eyes when she looked up at him.

“You can keep going,” she said. She gave him a small smile as she stroked her nipple with her thumb. “Are you still ok, holding me up like this?” 

“I’m good.” She felt solid in his hands, but not too heavy to keep carrying what of her that wasn’t supported by the bed. 

She brought her other hand down to her belly, resting it just above her navel for a moment before reaching down to part her lips, giving him a clear view of where he was sliding in and out of her. He watched, mesmerized for a moment before tearing his gaze away and looking up to find her smiling at him. 

She laid her four fingers over her clit, pressing down and moving her hand in tiny circles as he watched, the tip of her longest finger almost grazing his cock. He groaned, struggling to fight the tightening heat and pressure in his balls, trying to keep his thrusts steady and even without going over the edge. 

A pink blush bloomed over her throat and chest, all the more visible when she threw her head back, biting her lip as she fluttered around him. His head fell forward as his orgasm swept over him, a deep groan at the incredible relief of the heat and pressure that had been building from the base of his spine to his balls seeming to flow out of his cock as he came. He looked up as he gently lowered her to the bed, realizing far too late that she hadn’t been coming after all.  
He turned away from her as he pulled the condom off, tying it off and leaning over the side of the bed as he set it on the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She was still lying on her back, her hand tucked between her legs. 

“You don’t have to be.” She slowly curled and relaxed her fingers, her throat still flushed, keeping herself on edge. 

He turned towards her. “How do you want me?” he asked. 

“I’m cold,” she said. “Can you warm me up?”

He took a guess at what she meant, reaching down to the foot of the bed and pulling up the covers as he laid down on his side next to her, wrapping her up with his arm around her shoulders. 

She curled her legs up and shifted so her chin was resting on his shoulder, her breath warm against the side of his neck as she leaned into him, almost entirely still, the movement of her hand like a vibration he could only barely tell apart from the motion of her breathing.

She hitched herself closer and worked her way up his side so her cheek was resting on his upper back. He shifted his arm around her, holding her just under her shoulder blades. She leaned back against him, testing him, the lower half of her body bumping against his, her knuckles barely brushing against his skin. 

He bent his head and kissed along the high curve of her breast, feeling her teeth against the back of his neck as he did. She stayed gentle, scraping her teeth lightly along his skin as he licked at her skin, moving lower, admiring the way the darker skin around her nipple crinkled, then taking her into his mouth to warm her, sucking hard enough to flatten her against the roof of his mouth.

She pushed against his arm even as she grasped at him with her leg, heel driving into the side of his thigh. Her breath quickened as she shivered, her mouth against his neck faster, as if she was playing at mauling him. She lifted her head as she went stiff in his arms, then shivered, her cheek resting against him again as she trembled twice more and then was still. He tried to look up at her but she was still curved over him. He held his mouth and tongue still as she leaned back, stretching as she looked down at him, gently pressing on his forehead to get him to move away. She smiled as she rolled away from him, taking the covers with her. He propped himself up on his elbow as he looked down at her.

“Good?” he asked, afraid of misreading her again.

“Very good.” She closed her eyes, pulling the blanket up to her chin. “It’s a good thing I’m hungry, otherwise I would definitely fall asleep again.”

He stood up, feeling that same heaviness of his limbs. When he looked at her she truly appeared to be asleep, the pink flush on her cheeks only adding to the illusion. He picked up the discarded condom from the floor, bringing it to the washroom where he wrapped it in toilet paper and dropped it in the waste bin. He returned to his suitcase and pulled on some clean clothes, glancing over at Shannon when he was done. She seemed to be truly asleep, and if anything the white bedclothes accentuated how pale she was. He retrieved a fresh towel from the washroom and leaned over her, gently wrapping up her hair.

“I’m awake,” she said, but she didn’t open her eyes or really move at all, letting him lift her head just a bit to make sure the back of her neck wasn’t being cooled by her wet hair.

“I know. You can stay here while I get some breakfast started though, ok?”

“Mmm hmm.” She smiled and nodded, but still didn’t open her eyes. He kissed her forehead, and went to the kitchen.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Shannon have a lazy Sunday. Tom POV.

He stood in front of the refrigerator, looking at the eggs their landlady had put in for them and sighed, suddenly unable to stomach the idea of yet another high protein meal. So what if this would be his second cheat in two days, soon enough he’d be back in Pittsburgh and he’d have to stay on task, no matter what. A moment later he dropped a hastily scribbled note next to Shannon’s pillow. _Gone to get breakfast I’ll be back soon._

As he queued at the bakery he’d noticed on their cab ride home the night before, he thought that “back soon” might be a bit optimistic, but he moved forward steadily. As he looked at the menu board he tried to remember if Shannon had ever said anything to him about what she liked, but couldn’t recall. He took note of what everyone else seemed to be ordering, and took a shot in the dark, hoping he got it right.

Back at the flat, Shannon was still asleep. He hesitated next to the bed, surprised that the sound of him coming in hadn’t woken her. She was still in the same position he’d left her in, the sign of someone who really needed, rather than only wanted, to sleep. He went to the kitchen and started the coffeemaker, hoping the sound would rouse her, but when he returned she hadn’t moved, and he hesitated to wake her. Still, she had told him she was hungry before he’d left. He knelt next to the bed, grasping her shoulder.

“Shannon?” He spoke softly but her eyes opened immediately. 

“Yeah?” She picked her head up, reaching for the towel there. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Yeah, for a while I think. I’ve been out. I got us breakfast.”

“Oh nice.” She pulled the towel off her hair as she sat up, shaking it out. “What did you get us?”

“Bagels with lox and cream cheese. And some other stuff, I kind of ordered what everyone else seemed to be getting.”

“That sounds awesome.” She sat up, holding the blanket to her chest, and sniffed. “Are you making coffee too?”

“Of course.” 

She twisted her shoulders side to side, stretching. “Let me get dressed and I’ll be right out.” She tilted her face up towards him and he kissed her, his hand resting on the warm damp skin at the back of her neck. He lifted her hair up as he stood, twisting it a bit so it formed a smooth rope, and set it over her shoulder. She laid her hand over the back of his hand before he stepped away, and he met her eyes for only a moment before he turned, overcome for that second by an almost unbearable longing for this to be normal, these small touches and unhurried moments, rather than the breakneck pace of work he often found himself wrapped up in. 

Shannon ate slowly, pulling the bagel apart and eating the halves separately, for a while, then sticking it back together, licking her fingers when the cream cheese squished out the sides. Tom had been eating his as a sandwich, awkward but nice to get the flavors all together, and he watched her, worried that she didn't care for it.

"I haven't had a bagel with lox for ages," she said. "I'd forgotten how much I like it."

"I got a plain bagel with plain cheese too, just in case," he said.

"Maybe I'll eat that later," she said, then smiled at him. "I'd share of course."

"I don't think it'll go to waste," he said. He tried to relax as she slipped back into silence.

She looked into her empty coffee cup and then back at him. "Would you make me a cup of tea?" She looked almost surprised at the sound of her own voice but held her cup up to him as he stood, reaching for it.

"Of course. What would you like?" He opened the cupboard, looking at the neatly labeled glass jars.

"Something with vanilla, if there is anything like that."

He scanned the labels. "Blood orange vanilla rooibos," he said. "Will that do?" He opened the lid and held it out to her over the tiny table.

"Not sure how I feel about citrus and vanilla together," she said, but she leaned forward to smell it, her hand cupping his where he held the jar steady. "It smells nice. I'll try it."

He set the jar on the counter and started the kettle before he sat down again. "If you don't like it I'm sure there's more than a few other choices you could try."

She smiled, resting her chin on her hand. "That sounds like a good day to me. Staying in, trying different types of tea." She sat up straight. "Was there anything you were hoping to go out and see or do today?"

He shook his head. "A day in sounds really good."

"Good." She looked over at the television. "I wonder if that gets Netflix."

"It does." Tom stood up to make the tea as the kettle boiled, scooping the loose blend into a tea ball and placing it in a clean mug. "Is there anything in particular that you want to watch?"

"Something not at all challenging or intellectual," Shannon said. The smile she gave him when he set her tea down in front of her was sudden and broad, and he felt something warm in the pit of his stomach as she looked away from him, peering down at her tea. 

“I’ll see what I can find.” He was happy to be able to turn to the television and its little array of remotes, not sure what Shannon would see when she looked at him. His desire to take care of her was so sudden and strong that he was sure it would be written all over his face— and while her pleasure at something as simple as a cup of tea seemed to say that she was enjoying the little bit of care he’d shown her so far, he wasn’t sure what she would do if she knew how deep his impulse was. 

Once he had some likely films queued up he returned to the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea, bringing it back to the coffee table. 

He stood across the kitchen table from Shannon. She was resting her cheek in her hand, looking down at the tea. 

“Ready to move over to the sofa?” He stood next to her, offering her his hand. She slipped her hand into his and actually leaned on him a bit as she stood. He carried her tea as they walked to the living room area, setting it down and then placing his hands on her hips as he guided her to sit down next to him. 

She leaned back on him, propping her ankles on the edge of the sofa cushions. 

“Comfortable?” he asked as she stilled. 

“Perfect.”

Throughout that movie, and the next, they took turns dozing off. Tom thought that Shannon spent more time asleep than he did, until he found himself waking at the end of a film with no idea what they’d just watched. Shannon had turned herself over, tucking herself between his thigh and the back of the sofa as she leaned against his chest. She looked up at him as he stretched. 

“I hope there isn’t a quiz,” she said, looking towards the television screen. 

“Not from me at any rate,” Tom said. 

“I wonder if it reflects on the film that we both fell asleep.” When she turned towards him more fully the curve of her lower back deepened, the curve of her bum exaggerated. He rested his hand between her shoulder blades, slowly tracing down the track of her spine. 

“I think it only reflects that we both needed some extra sleep.” He let his hand trace all the way down her back, then slid to the side, stroking his knuckles against the side of her bum.

“An excellent assessment.” She leaned more heavily on him and he lifted his legs up onto the sofa and leaned back as he wrapped his arm around her, letting her lie on him as he stretched out. 

His eyes were closed when she kissed him, and he kept them closed, happy to let her control the kiss. When another film started to autoplay he let it, tilting his head back as she kissed down the side of his neck, then settling against the arm of the sofa again as she returned to his mouth.

The afternoon passed in a similar fashion, both of them dozing from time to time during that film, waking together just long enough to make out and shift on the sofa before dozing again. When the closing credits of the film jarred them both awake Shannon stood and stretched.

“I’m hungry, but it’s almost too late for lunch and a bit early for supper.” She twisted from side to side, stretching her back. “Do you want to share that bagel with me?”

“I do. Can I sit here and eat it?” Tom felt like the sofa had grown up around him. 

“But of course.” She went into the kitchenette and he heard the sounds of the kettle being put on.

“Do you want tea?” she called out to him.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” he called back, closing his eyes as he rested his head on the arm of the sofa. 

She returned with the wrapped up bagel balanced on top of one of the mugs. He took the unladen mug from her, sniffing at the steam rising from the cup. 

“It’s a white tea with blackcurrant,” she said as she sat down. “I thought it might do since it has a little caffeine in it, but not too much.”

“Good thinking.” He took a sip. It was fruity and slightly astringent, and he liked it more for the fact that he felt like he was building an idea of what she liked than for the flavor itself. 

He managed to maintain a fair level of interest in the final film that they watched, more soaking up the feeling of being still, with her next to him, than the story itself. 

Shannon had leaned on him, her head against his chest, and she tilted her face up to look at him. 

“Seems funny that this trip is almost over,” she said. “I know I shouldn’t be surprised that a weekend went quickly, but it’s felt like longer, somehow.”

“Getting up so early will do that to you,” he said, jostling her gently.

“Hey! You woke up on your own, I didn’t make that happen,” she said.

“I know.” He kissed the top of her head, not quite ready to stand up yet. “We probably ought to cook some of the food that’s left in the fridge,” he said.

“Suits me.” She stood up, holding her hand out to him. “Come on. We both have to get up or we never will.”

Tom groaned as he stood up. “My dad used to say that if he sat down while working he’d get too comfortable to get up and I think I’m finally beginning to understand what he meant.”  
“Exactly.”

In the kitchen she pulled a whole chicken from the fridge. The day before he’d carefully ignored it, finding the concept of cooking a whole chicken too daunting but she looked pleased.

“Won’t that take forever?” he asked. “Despite doing practically nothing all day, I’m hungry.”

“I have a trick.” She rinsed a handful of carrots under the tap and handed them to him with a steel bowl and a peeler. “Can you take care of those?” She handed him a plate from the cupboard.

“Sure. You just want them peeled?”

“For now.” She turned back to the chicken, but kept glancing at him.

“Are you afraid I can’t peel a carrot?” he asked, already half done with the first one.

“Not afraid, exactly,” she said, turning back to the chicken. “More curious.” Her actions were hidden from him but as he finished with the carrots he heard her say, “I’ve got your spine.”

“Sorry?” he tried to look around her. “Did you take out that chicken’s spine?”

“I did.” She held it up for him to see. “It’s spatch cocked now. It’ll cook in about an hour.” 

“Brilliant.” He finished the carrots while she added spices to the chicken’s skin. When everything was in the oven she washed her hands and turned to him. 

“I’ve set the timer for just under an hour,” she said, drying her hands on a tea towel. “What should we do in the meantime?”

“Do you have any ideas?” He felt the same content warmth at being near her that he had for most of the day, but no intense driving need to take her to bed again. 

“I was thinking of having a bath.” She straightened up from where she’d been leaning on the worktop. “You’re welcome to join me if you like, but I really do mean to just have a soak.”

“Why don’t you get in, and I’ll check on you in a bit. If you want me to join you then, I will.”

“Alright.” She paused as she walked past him, leaning down to kiss his cheek. 

He sat at the table checking his e-mail on his phone for a moment. There was nothing that couldn’t wait, but he wrote a reply to Rachael answering her question about some plans she had for a family vacation in the summertime. His schedule was too up in the air to think that far ahead and he simply gave his blessing for Louis to accompany her, knowing that she would do the same for him. Those simple tasks done, he made his way to the washroom, knocking softly on the door.

“Come in,” Shannon called.

Tom pushed the door open, pausing at the sight of her barely distorted by the clear water. The room was lit by the smaller light over the sink, casting white reflections on the water, but she was clearly visible. 

He cleared his throat. “How is it?”

“Perfect.” She rested her arms on the edges of the tub, her fingers dripping, leaving thin tracks on the enamel. “Do you want to get in?”

He shook his head. “You look so comfortable. I think that tub is just right for one. Two would be a bit cozy.”

“Well. I like you and all.” She sat forward, her breasts rising out of the water, shining in the low light for a moment as the water dripped off. He reached out and cupped his palm around her firm nipple, skin crinkled in the cooler air. 

“You should stay warm,” he said, gently pushing her back, taking his hand away as she slipped beneath the water. “I’ll keep you company though if you like.”

“I would like that.” She slipped further down, the tips of her hair meeting the water. 

Tom leaned his head against the side of the tub, letting his fingers brush against her shoulder, sliding around to the back of her neck and lightly kneading the muscles to either side. Shannon sighed happily, lifting her head for a moment, and Tom took a guess and cupped the back of her head, supporting her with something a little bit softer than the back of the tub as she leaned back.

Her eyes were closed, her hands floating by her sides. The only sign that she was awake came minutes later as she languidly lifted her hands to the sides of the tub.

“I should probably wash my hair again,” she said. “I let the ends get all wet and if I don’t wash it now it’ll go all crispy.” She slid down and let the water cover her face, turning her head slowly from side to side as her hair fanned out around her. Tom rose up on his knees, reaching for her when she stayed under just a beat too long. He pulled his hand away as she sat up, smiling sheepishly as she looked at him. 

“Would you hand me the shampoo?” She looked to the little shelf near the other end of the tub. 

He leaned over to get it. “Why don’t I just wash your hair?”

“Yes please,” she said, then slid down to dunk her head again before sitting up near the end of the tub. He moved around so he was kneeling behind her, reached into the tub to get just enough water to lather up the shampoo in his hands. 

When he touched her she relaxed almost immediately, giving him the full weight of her head as he worked his fingers along her scalp, scrubbing at the skin behind her ears, sweeping up over her temples and finally the top of her head. He kept going even after her hair was entirely covered in white foam, rubbing hard against the thin muscles at the back and sides of her head, slipping his thumbs down the angle of her jaw and then up again to rub just in front of her ears. She moaned softly at that, still heavy in his hands, and he turned her head from side to side, just a bit, just to feel the lack of resistance as she let him move her. He rubbed his thumbs over her temples, then held her head for a moment, kneeling up straighter to look over the smooth lines of her face, her lips parting as she sighed. His fingers tightened against her skin as he felt a surge of the same want he’d had for a while, a deep desire too complicated and potentially frightening to even consider telling her about during this short trip. 

She stayed still despite his own utter lack of movement, her breath becoming even deeper and slower. He shifted his hands so his fingers were cradling the back of her neck, and even to that touch she felt softer, her shoulders sinking lower in the water. He wondered again if she had any idea of what he wanted, thought about her arms stretched up over her head, her request for him to push her wrists down into the mattress, and, the image that came to him over and over in thoughts of her, her bared neck, bent and still before him. He turned his hands to work the suds through her hair one last time. It wasn’t fair, he reminded himself, to infer what he hoped for from tiny movements that might not hold any meaning for her at all-- that more than likely did not. Before he could even dream, in good faith, of dominating her, they would have to have a conversation, and probably more than one, but not here, not now. Not even soon. 

“I think you’re good to rinse off,” he said. She tilted her head forward, starting to sit up, and he pressed a hand against her upper back, guiding her up. “Do you want me to use the shower to rinse you off?”

“No,” she said, moving herself forward in the tub. “I’m just going to dunk my head.” Her eyes were still tightly closed, and she leaned back, lowering her head once more, turning her face from side to side, her hair fanning out as the soap rinsed away. 

She sat up, running a few strands through her fingers. “I think that’ll do,” she said. “Just a bit of conditioner and I should be good.” 

He reached for the bottle but this time she held out her hand and he gave it over, letting her take care of just the ends of her hair.

“Will you go check on the chicken?” she asked.

“I can do, but unless it’s obviously burning I’m not going to know what I’m checking, to be honest.”

“It’s really just my ruse to get you out of the room while I get out of the tub,” she said.

“Sure I will, but why?” He held onto the edge of the tub as he stood up. 

“I’ve been awkward in front of you, and I’ve been naked, but I haven’t been awkward and naked,” she explained. 

“I’ll avert my eyes and all, if you’d like a hand getting out.”

She looked up at him as she sat up, the skin from her throat to her breasts glistening in the soft light. “I would.” She held her near hand up to him, and he looked down and to the side as she steadied herself, using him for balance as she stepped out onto the bathmat. 

The room was small enough that he was able to reach the shelf of towels, snagging the last large bath sheet for her and wrapping her up. She held the ends of the towel closed under her chin as he reached around her back, rubbing his hands firmly against her, trying to warm her up. 

“This has been really nice,” she said, so softly he wasn’t sure if she knew she had said it. 

“What has?” 

She sighed deeply, moving against him as she did, then holding still in his arms. 

“Just being taken care of I guess.” She shifted but didn’t pull away from him. “It’s been really nice.” 

He fought the urge to hold his breath, sure that she would be able to feel him gasp. It was too close to the things he’d already been longing to do. 

“The pleasure is all mine,” he said, trying not to laugh out loud at the irony of how accurate that statement was. 

She stepped back and looked at him. “I’m sure I’ll get my chance to do the same for you some time.”

“Tonight even, or did you forget you’re cooking us a chicken?” 

She smiled as she secured the ends of the towel around herself. “I didn’t forget actually. I should go get dressed.” She reached out for his face, cupping her hand over his cheek, then leaned forward to kiss him. She paused as if she was about to say something more, but then moved around him to the door. He stepped back to let her go.

The oven timer went off while she was dressing herself, and he turned off the timer, happy to see her coming into the kitchen. She opened the door and looked at it, pleased, and set it on the stove top with a tin foil tent over it. 

“It just needs to rest a moment,” she said. 

“Of course, I now find myself ravenous,” he said. 

“Of course.” She smiled at him as she took down a glass. “Do you want some water?”

“Yes.” 

They sat at the table across from each other, drinking quietly. When Shannon had judged that the chicken had rested enough she set the entire pan on a trivet in the middle of the table, handing plates and forks over for both of them. 

“This is good,” Tom said, after several bites.

“It was a good chicken.” She kept taking tiny pieces, then reaching into the pan, while Tom took half the chicken right off the bat. 

“You may as well finish it,” Tom said when just the wing was left. “If you like.”

“I do want that wing,” she said. They both tried to use their napkins but kept licking the grease off their fingers. “I wonder when we’ll be able to do this again,” Shannon said. 

“Eat a chicken? Any time we want,” Tom said. 

“I was thinking of just being with you, quietly,” she said. “I feel like in London we’ll both be busy again.”

“We figured it out when you were visiting your family and I’m in the middle of filming, I think we can figure it out there.” 

“When do you think I’ll meet Ben?” she asked. 

“Probably pretty soon after I get back,” Tom said. “Unless he’s gone again.” 

“Good,” she said, but she didn’t elaborate. Sleepy from the warmth of the flat and the good food he didn’t seek for her to elaborate.

The rest of the evening went in a similar fashion, both of them quiet but comfortably so. She cuddled next to him on the sofa, lifting her face to him for kisses, then settling next to him as they alternated between watching a film and chatting. 

“I can’t believe that I’m ready for bed again,” she said around nine.

“Probably for the best, considering how early we have to get to the airport,” Tom said. He mustered the strength to stand up from the sofa, offering her a hand. “Come on.”

Once they were settled, their clothes for the next day ready by their bags and the flat scoured for stray phone chargers and other small accoutrements, Tom found himself falling asleep quickly. Such easy sleep was a gift, but he nearly fought it for the sake of being aware of her presence for a few moments more. When he turned over, though, her face was soft with sleep, barely illuminated by the dim light coming in around the edges of the curtains.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of Tom and Shannon's trip to NYC. Tom POV.

He woke in the middle of the night to find her clinging more tightly to his back, her chin pressed to his shoulder. He turned himself over and wrapped his arms around her, rucking up her shirt as he sought her skin. She pulled it off over her head, pressing herself tight against him, her hand toying with his waistband. 

‘You want this?” Tom asked sleepily, sliding his hand down her lower back, cupping the curve of her buttock, snugging his hand tight against the join of her thigh. 

“Yes.” Her mouth found his, imprecise and soft as she wriggled and kicked her trousers off. She threw a leg over his hips, pulling him close, and he gritted his teeth as he put his hand on her hip.

“Hold on.” She grumbled at him as he leaned over her, straining to reach the bedside table. “You gotta wait.”

“Ok.” 

He captured a condom and leaned back away from her just enough to get it open and slide it on, then pulled her close again, glancing his fingers over her pussy, groaning out loud when he realized she was soaked, slick right out to the outer edges of her lips. He took his hand away and grasped her hips again, just pulling her close, rubbing his cock against her until she opened up to him, tilting herself so he caught against the edge of her, sliding in as they leaned towards each other. 

She held on tight to his shoulders, her head tucked against his neck while he wrapped his arms around her waist, pushing on her tailbone as he rocked against her. 

She whimpered every time he tightened his grip, and he started pulling her in tighter with every movement, rocking harder against her, tilting his face back to catch his breath. 

She ground into him, angling her hips so she was pressing herself hard against his hands even as she rubbed herself against the base of his cock. Her breath was fast and shallow, just a series of high soft sounds as she rippled around him, and he tucked his head against her shoulder as he came, trying to muffle the shout that burst out of him. She rested one hand on top of his head as she lifted her own face to take a deep gasping breath, her breathing settling out as she brought her hand down to rub the back of his neck. He was still holding on to her tightly, only began to let go as she tapped her other hand against his shoulder, gently pushing him back. He rubbed his hands over her hips, then held her steady as he pulled himself away, rolling onto his knees as he carefully stripped the condom off. Shannon scrunched up close to him, her knees pulled up towards her chest, leaving him room to slip out of bed, carrying the condom to the bathroom trash. After he relieved himself, shivering in the dark, he ran the tap until the water was warm and soaked a flannel, giving himself a quick wash. He threw that one into the laundry hamper and soaked another, wringing it out until it was only damp. 

Shannon was curled on her side still, but lifted her head as he approached the side of the bed.

“Do you want this?” he asked, offering her the flannel.

“Hmm. Yeah, thanks.” She stayed turned away from him as she quickly wiped herself down, then folded the cloth carefully before she handed it back to him. “Thanks,” she whispered again, lying her head back down as he walked away. 

In the washroom he tossed the flannel into the hamper, washed his hands again, then paced around the edge of the tiny flat, as if there could have been anything badly out of place. When he got back to the bed he found that she’d moved herself to what had been his side of the bed, her back still to him. He lifted the covers, surprised to see that she’d redressed herself in her pyjamas. He found his jogging bottoms at the foot of the bed and pulled them on, then settled in behind her, his arm draped over her side, the rhythm of her breath lulling him to sleep.

In the morning they woke in the dark, first his alarm then hers ensuring that they wouldn’t stay in bed. The morning looked cool and damp, the darkness just something to get through, no particular pleasure to be wrung out of the early hours with both of them catching early flights. 

Tom sat on the edge of the bed pulling his socks on while Shannon grumbled to herself, a disgruntled but not entirely unpleasant sound as she sorted through her bag. She bent forward, her soft sleep shirt riding up her back as her jogging bottoms slipped down, and Tom couldn’t help but look at the swath of skin that showed, looking warm in the lamp light. He reached out for her waistband, suddenly needing to have her close, even for just one more moment. She let herself be led, walking backwards towards him, but then leaning away slightly just as he tried to coax her to sit down on his thigh, the movement pulling her trousers further away from her skin, far enough that he could see a cluster of six small bruises surrounding her tailbone. 

“Shit,” he breathed softly, he thought, to himself, but Shannon turned her head towards him sharply, looking over her shoulder. 

“What?”

“I bruised you, apparently,” he said, reaching out for her, but she had already turned around, her head angled back, spinning as she tried to look at her own back. 

“Show me,” she said, stepping closer to him again. 

He pulled back the waistband of her trousers and pressed his fingers against her skin, lining them up. “Here,” he said. When he looked closely there was a mark under where his left smallest finger had pressed into her skin as well.

“Hmm.” Shannon leaned back against his hands. “I don’t really feel it.” She stepped away from him and rubbed her lower back with both hands, searching. “Ah, ok, there it is.” Her smile faded as she looked at him again. “It’s not like I’m hurt or something, I’m really ok. You should see my shins when I’ve been working, I’m usually covered in bruises.”

“Why?” He reached up and wrapped his hand around her arm, gently easing her hand away from her back where she seemed to be pressing on the marks he’d left. 

“I just forget to look where I’m going in the studio and I’m always barking them against something. It’s ok. I just wish I could see these.” She reached back again, worrying at the marks. 

“Why do you want to see them?” He wanted to pull her hands away again, but he also understood the urge to push on a spot like that. 

“Something to remember you by.” She smiled as she took her hands away, smoothing her waistband down as she moved her hands to the front of her body. She paused as she hooked her thumbs into her belt loops, then twisted her waistband down, looking thoughtful. She stepped closer as she brushed her fingers over the front of her left hip bone. “This one I can see,” she said.

He pulled her close and pushed the fabric out of the way to kiss the faintly bruised spot. She placed her hand on the back of his head, stroking his hair as he set his teeth to her skin, fingers scratching gently at the nape of his neck as he sucked her skin between his teeth, pulling away slowly. She gasped as he let go and they both looked at the small red mark he’d left next to the paler bruise. 

“It’s not fair,” she said softly, brushing her fingers over the new spot. 

“What’s not fair?” He looked up, afraid that he’d read her wrong. 

“I wasn’t allowed to leave any marks on you,” she said. 

He smiled up at her. “I promise I won’t forget about you.”

“Good.” She stepped back abruptly. “I should finish getting ready or I’ll never get out of here.”

“Same here.” 

They made one last sweep of the flat, then tried to get down the stairs as quietly as possible. Tom slipped the keys under their host’s door, and they went out into the cool dark morning to meet their car to the airport.

Tom held her hand on the way but neither talked, the sudden presence of someone else in their space as much a damper as the time of morning and their impending separation. The silence was broken by their driver as they approached JFK.

“Which terminal am I taking you to?” he asked.

“Two for me, five for her,” Tom said.

Shannon looked up sharply. “I thought we were both in five,” she said.

He shook his head. “I found you there because my flight got in ahead of yours, but we’re leaving at about the same time. Different terminals though.”

“Oh.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m glad one of us is paying attention.” 

Shannon was first to be dropped off. Tom unbuckled and leaned forward, telling the driver he’d help her with her bag, then followed her out. She stood up on the curb while he got her carry-on out of the boot, then tentatively held her arms open to him as he brought it over. He hugged her tight, kissing her temple as she leaned her head on his shoulder. 

“Text me when you get home, alright?” he asked.

“Will do.” She lifted her face as she stepped back, sighing, apparently scared to risk a kiss out in the open. He held her still and kissed her, soft and quick, before stepping back. “Safe home,” she said.

“You too.” He got back into the car, just able to watch her walk into the terminal before they pulled away.

He felt the hours ticking down until he’d be back hard at work, and he felt the days since he’d last talked to Ben, in any way. As he made his way through security and got in line for the plane he held his phone, thinking of sending a text, but it would be the kind of text that might just drive Ben insane. _Hi just thinking of you sorry I can’t talk about to get on a plane,_ with the added issue of it being him texting at the end of the weekend with his girlfriend. Tom sighed as he took his seat, and decided to risk it. 

_Morning Ben. Miss you._ He sent it, waiting to see if Ben would message him right back. It was more than likely that he’d be busy, mid-morning and all, but his mind posited that it was equally possible that he was simply ignoring Tom’s texts, as he had himself felt ignored all weekend. The plane door shut and the flight attendants reminded everyone to place their phone in airplane mode. Tom thumbed his phone completely off, and leaned his head back, ready for a couple hours of fitful rest on the way to Pittsburgh.


End file.
